


Coincidence Is So That Coincidental

by LuckyPanda13



Series: Coincidence [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blogging, Chatting & Messaging, Eames is a little shit, Eames is a little slow, F/M, Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, No Angst, Romance, bottom!Arthur, top!eames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:57:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6142210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyPanda13/pseuds/LuckyPanda13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames liked trolling people online.<br/>Especially PointMan.<br/>Whoever he was.</p>
<p>Companion work to <em>Coincidence Is Not That Coincidental</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spaci42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaci42/gifts).



Eames never had trouble finding people to bother on the Internet. It was like one large playground for him to make fun of _everybody_ and bother _everyone_. Yusuf was just glad it kept Eames off _his_ back. He thought Eames was less likely to be obnoxious if he had other people to annoy. (He was _wrong_ , but where was the fun in letting _him_ know that?) He had just gotten a fourteen-year-old boy in trouble with his mother, which was a marvelous feat that made Eames giddy (in a way that was _totally_ manly and _not at all_ childish in the slightest) when he went back to his blog. There was the usual inbox full of comments of people absolutely _adoring_ his Bloody Hot Men page (which in retrospect, he _totally_ should have named Bloody Hot Blokes, but alas…), with the occasional person flaming him for being a dick (which he _absolutely_ was, no questions asked). And then he had a message that he almost deleted with the batch of flames, because it was so unexpected and random.

 **PointMan** – _8:56 am  
_ Are you deliberately spelling poorly, or is it dyslexia?

Eames couldn’t help the grin on his features at the comment. He had no idea who this PointMan was or what exactly Eames had said to trigger that kind of response, but he just _knew_ that fucking with this person was going to be _fun_. Eames went back to find the comment he had left that had angered PointMan so much that he had to _respond_ and almost blinked at how ordinary his comment was. Normally, Eames expected such anger to be reserved for one of his deliberate trolls. But nope. PointMan was pissed at something so innocuous that it intrigued Eames more than it deterred him.

 **theforger** – _2:38 am  
_ ur a man atfer mi own hrt, darling <3

Eames blinked at his original comment. He sat there, staring at what he had said, trying to figure out what upset PointMan. Was PointMan homophobic and didn’t like the pet name or the heart? If he _was_ , Eames was going to have _way_ too much fun with him. Eames couldn’t abide bullies and intolerant people. So, he deliberately pissed them off as much as possible. His gut reaction had gotten him in trouble more than enough times that he had started working to defend himself from his mouth when it inevitably got him in trouble. Eames may or may not have had self-control issues. (He _totally_ had self-control issues. Namely that he didn’t _have_ any self-control to speak of.)

Well, Eames had one way of responding to anger, and _that_ was to be obnoxious.

 **theforger** – _9:22 am_  
nuthn so srs, luv  
jus lazy ;)

Eames half-expected that to be the end of it. PointMan had gotten his answer and would probably leave him alone. Or, he’d get _angrier_ at Eames’ deliberately poor spelling and respond. Eames hoped for the latter. He really enjoyed pushing people’s buttons. It was probably a sign of a deep psychological issue, but Eames didn’t really care enough to figure out _what_ it was. (Sociopathic tendencies. Which probably explained his penchant for pick-pocketing people.)

Eames wasn’t precisely _surprised_ when he got to the class he was a TA for and opened his laptop, finding another message from PointMan. Obediently, he took attendance for the professor and then made the executive decision to ignore _everything_ that happened in the class. He already knew all the material and learning how to teach only held his attention for so long. So, Eames decided to focus on PointMan and what his issue was.

 **PointMan** – _10:03 am_  
Do you really not know how to spell?  
Because it’s irritating to try to decipher what you’re attempting to tell me.

Oh, Eames was going to have _fun_. Not a homophobe apparently, but a grammar Nazi, which was almost as fun.

 **theforger** – _10:03 am  
_ got 2 kepe u interested, rite?

 **PointMan** – _10:04 am  
_ Mostly you’re just making me blind.

 **theforger** – _10:04 am  
_ Don’t worry, darling. I can write properly on occasion. ;)

There. Let him suck on _that_. Point to Eames. Eames sniggered at the idea that he had caused PointMan to have an aneurysm from anger. It took a full minute for PointMan to respond. (Every second he _didn’t_ respond made Eames giggle internally.) And when he did, Eames was _not_ prepared for his answer. Where he thought the man was going to freak out on his spelling, he instead encountered a very _different_ reaction.

 **PointMan** – _10:05 am  
_ Why are you calling me that?!

Eames blinked at his screen. He took a moment to look up to see what was going on in the class. (Nothing important.) And blinked at the message. Maybe PointMan _was_ a homophobe? Eames typed slower than normal, trying to decipher what _exactly_ PointMan was freaking out about.

 **theforger** – _10:05 am_  
wat? dalring?  
bc u soudn lik a darling 2 me

 **PointMan** – _10:05 am  
_ Can you _please_ go back to the proper English? I swear, my eyesight is getting worse just glancing at what you just wrote.

Now, Eames was officially confused. Was PointMan upset about his poor spelling or the pet name? Eames wanted to just _ask_ him, but that would be no fun. (And PointMan might not answer anyway.) Eames decided to focus on the grammar. PointMan would give him enough clues later for him to figure it out. (Hopefully.)

 **theforger** – _10:05 am_  
u mean proper Enlighs lik American, rite?  
bc i don do merica Englihs  
u bloody colonials

 **PointMan** – _10:06 am_  
I’m surprised you spelled “colonials” correctly.  
Besides, no one said I’m American.  
I could be from anywhere.

Oh, PointMan was _good_. Eames was responding before he could actively sabotage his own spelling, hitting “enter” without thinking. Point to PointMan.

 **theforger** – _10:07 am  
_ Lucky guess, darling.

Shite. There went his plan to just piss PointMan off incessantly.

 **PointMan** – _10:07 am  
_ I never confirmed anything.

 **theforger** – _10:07 am_  
True.  
But I’m still guessing American.  
You sound like a Yank.

Eames got an idea. A terrible, horrible idea. (Those were his _best_ ideas.)

 **PointMan** – _10:07 am  
__You_ sound British.

 **theforger** – _10:08 am  
_ nd bloody proud o it, darling ;)

Ha! Eat _that_ , PointMan! Eames grinned at the screen, happily accepting the fact that he _knew_ he was pushing PointMan’s buttons. There was nothing else he _could_ be doing. Switching between good and bad spelling would probably piss him off something fierce. Point to Eames.

 **PointMan** – _10:08 am  
_ You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you?

Point to PointMan. Damn it all, the man was _not_ an idiot. Unfortunately, he just got _more_ enthralling to Eames. (Eames had a special weakness for irritating the smart ones.)

 **theforger** – _10:08 am  
_ now y woudl i do that?

 **PointMan** – _10:09 am  
_ Because you’re an ass?

Eames grinned at his screen. Oh, he was _going_ to have fun with this PointMan. He was going to irritate the man like his life depended on it. Point to PointMan.

 **theforger** – _10:09 am  
_ luv u 2, dalring <3

There. Let him stew on _that_. Both terrible spelling _and_ the pet name! Suck it, PointMan. Point to Eames. Eames had pretty much lost track of who had what points and was fairly certain that he stopped caring at some point in the conversation. (They were even, 3-3, but Eames was choosing to ignore the fact that he _actually_ was more observant than mostly people gave him credit for in order to maintain his lackadaisical attitude about this short-lived conversation with PointMan.)

Eames was going to annoy the crap out of PointMan to the point where he _never_ wanted to talk to Eames again. For no other reason than Eames would find it amusing. (Reiterating his “asshole” status again.) PointMan didn’t reply. And _still_ didn’t reply. Shite. Maybe Eames had already scared him off.

 **theforger** – _10:12 am_  
hope i didn scar u off, luv  
ur so cute when ur all pissy

Well, Eames had just given away his game plan (though, PointMan knew it already, to be fair). When PointMan still didn’t reply after another ten minutes, Eames chalked it up to either being in class or deliberately ignoring Eames at this point. Well, it was a good thing Eames was impossible to ignore. (According to Mal, Yusuf, Dom, _and_ his mum.)

Eames decided to go through PointMan’s blog to find some tidbits of information to annoy the man with. What he found was a stupidly brilliant man who had _terrible_ self-esteem and the mostly _delightful_ way of succinctly explaining why people were wrong. And a _lot_ of people were wrong. Eames was so engrossed in reading PointMan’s blog, that he missed the fact that his class ended until the professor called him out on not paying attention.

 **theforger** – _11:46 am  
_ omg, ur stupid smatr

 _12:59 pm  
_ im totly goin thru ur blog rite now

Eames went back to his room, deciding to skip his classes for the rest of the day to peruse the lengthy blog. Every so often, he sent a comment to PointMan, resolving to discuss all these points at a later time. (Well, if PointMan ever talked to him again.) PointMan had a short commentary about how he was planning on being the top lawyer at a prodigious law firm before he hit 30. Which was just _absurd_. Seriously? _That’s_ what he wanted to do? That was just ridiculous. How in fuck was PointMan expecting to do _that_ before he turned 30? That was just entirely unreasonable. Which Eames told PointMan. Well, Eames figured out, at least, that PointMan was still in school at the very least. (But was he an undergrad or at a law school?)

 **theforger** – _2:35 pm  
_ srsly, darling, we need 2 tlk bout ur unrsnable pectatns re ur future

And then Eames found the Shakespeare references in PointMan’s blog and pretty much fell in love. (Not really, but close enough.) Eames’ infatuation with annoying the brilliant unknown entity was abruptly shoved to the side in favor of Eames’ insatiable curiosity about this mysterious figure who was a grammar Nazi, may or may not have been homophobic, and had as deep a love of Shakespeare that Eames’ had for the bard. Now, PointMan wasn’t an opponent. Now, PointMan was a target. Eames resolved to learn _everything he could_ about him. He _had_ to. (Compulsions were symptoms of so many disorders, Eames couldn’t count them all. That was a lie. Eames had _totally_ counted them all.)

 **theforger** – _4:58 pm  
_ im so in luv w u, darling <3

 _7:15 pm  
_ ur Shakespeare knwoeldeg rivals mine! <333

Eames was engrossed in reading into _every detail_ of PointMan’s blog that he ignored Yusuf when the other TA invited him to dinner. Until, of course, Yusuf threatened to throw a beaker at his head. So, Eames went to dinner with Yusuf, talking nonstop about PointMan. Yusuf was not amused. (He usually wasn’t.)

“You’re obsessing.” Yusuf informed him dutifully.

“I am.” Eames was many things, but self-aware was probably the top of the list. (Followed closely by obnoxious and horny. Like Eames was _always_ horny.)

“This dude probably thinks you’re crazy, which you are, and are stalking him, which you _are_.” Yusuf continued.

“I hope he talks to me.” Eames pretended not to hear Yusuf.

“Hope _who_ talks to you?” Mal slid into the seat next to Yusuf, making both men jump in surprised.

“Why do you always _do_ that?!” Yusuf complained. “And _please_ don’t encourage him.”

“Eames, _mon cher_ , tell me.” Mal tilted her head, staring steadily at Eames.

“There’s this guy online…” Eames started.

“ _Oui?_ ” Mal smiled beatifically, encouraging him. She knew how to appeal to his over-dramatic nature.

“And he’s an absolute mystery.” Eames didn’t have to explain more. Mal understood better than anyone the lure and temptation of hidden and forbidden information. “But he’s bloody brilliant and he knows Shakespeare.”

“Ah, is it love?” Mal teased, lightly.

“Perhaps.” Eames sighed, playing it up for her benefit.

“Invite me to the wedding.” Mal winked. Then, she turned her interrogation to Yusuf.

“Have you found anyone, yet?”

Yusuf flinched.

Literally.

It was funny to see Mal’s focus turned on people who weren’t prepared to deal with her.

Eames had a _lot_ of practise with her.

He was basically immune to her powers.

(That was _such_ a lie.)


	2. Chapter 2

**PointMan** – _8:11 pm  
_ Have you been reading my blog all day?

The message popped up almost as soon as Eames logged on to the website. It was like PointMan had been waiting for him. Which was absurd because Eames had been doing his damndest to piss off PointMan. Luckily, it seemed he failed. Eames was so excited at the response that he didn’t even spell poorly on purpose.

 **theforger** – _8:11 pm  
_ darling! u r back!

 **PointMan** – _8:11 pm  
_ Where else would I be?

Eames smiled at his computer like PointMan said the wittiest thing he had ever heard in his life.

“You look like an idiot.” Yusuf obligingly informed him from across the living room.

“You can be replaced.” Eames replied.

“Please, dear God, get me out of this hell.” Yusuf was engrossed in his own laptop, barely paying enough attention to notice that Eames was grinning at his laptop.

 **theforger** – _8:11 pm  
_ ignroing me 4 th rest of eternity?

Okay, so Eames had a problem. In that, while his mission was no longer to piss PointMan off but instead to learn more about him, he _still_ had the instinct to be annoying. He was bad at this. Shite.

 **PointMan** – _8:11 pm  
_ Why would I do that?

Eames froze. PointMan wasn’t going to leave him?! PointMan wasn’t going to ignore him! Holy fuck! This was the best day of Eames’ life. (Eames was prone to exaggeration when the occasion called for it. Or didn’t. He wasn’t picky.)

 **theforger** – _8:11 pm  
_ darling! u _do_ care!

 **PointMan** – _8:11 pm  
_ Who else am I going to have to make me blind with terrible spelling?

Oh, that dry wit. Eames could already tell that he and PointMan would get along.

 **theforger** – _8:11 pm  
_ i knew u luvd me <3

Eames grinned at his screen, waiting for the inevitable snarky comment from PointMan. And he kept waiting. Eames pouted, _still_ waiting. Where was he? It had been all of four minutes! He should have replied by now. Eames chose to deliberately ignore the fact that PointMan had all sorts of other things that could be keeping him from talking to Eames. (Because it was easier to think he was being slighted.)

 **theforger** – _8:15 pm  
_ dalring?

Crap. Now he was sounding needy. Eames lifted his laptop to brain himself with it when a response popped up on the screen.

 **PointMan** – _8:15 pm  
_ Why have you been stalking my blog all day?

Thank god! He wasn’t abandoned! (Over-dramatic, remember?)

 **theforger** – _8:15 pm  
_ Insatiable curiosity.

 **PointMan** – _8:15 pm  
_ I’ve been rude and you become curious about me?

Eames hadn’t thought PointMan was being rude. Angry and _super_ intense, yes. Rude, not so much. Especially when Eames was _deliberately_ goading him. But PointMan didn’t know about Eames’ game. Not yet. He might figure it out eventually. But not yet.

 **theforger** – _8:15pm  
_ No one ever accused me of being normal, darling. ;)

Flirting. Point to Eames. Wait. Was he still doing the point system now that he wasn’t trying to annoy PointMan? Fuck.

 **PointMan** – _8:16 pm  
_ It irritates the crap out of me that you switch between good spelling and bad spelling.

Eames snickered to himself as another terrible, horrible idea popped into his head.

 **theforger** – _8:16 pm  
_ Glad to know I can gt undr ur skin dalring.

 **PointMan** – _8:17 pm  
_ Switching in the middle of a sentence is rude. :(

Eames’ heart stopped. PointMan was capable of emojis? No way. It didn’t fit the image of an overly uptight lawyer-type man scowling at his computer screen that Eames was envisioning. Damn it all. Eames had a pretty vivid imagination and liked to think that he could accurately predict people. But PointMan had just screwed _that_ idea right over. (But the use of an emoji aged PointMan. Or rather, de-aged him. And undergrad maybe?)

 **theforger** – _8:17 pm  
_ AN EMOJI?!

 _8:18 pm  
_ Sry darling

 _8:19 pm  
_ Hving an aneurysm rite now

Eames was such a liar. He was just going through more of PointMan’s blog. It didn’t matter that he had gone through most of the blog already. He was refreshing him memory. He needed to ask the right questions to get PointMan to open up to him. He had the _worst_ platonic crush on PointMan right now. He just wanted to friendship PointMan _so hard_. (Which sounded _way_ worse than he meant it.) Eames spotted the title of a post and had to re-read it a couple times because there was _no way_ this pre-lawyer grammar Nazi had written a post entitled “The Greatest Love Story Ever Told”.

 **PointMan** – _8:19 pm  
_ How did you spell “aneurysm” right but have it surrounded by the worst spelling to grace mankind?

 **theforger** – _8:20 pm  
_ I’m curious, darling.  
Do you _really_ think that _Sense and Sensibility_ is the greatest love story ever?

Okay, so Eames was blatantly ignoring PointMan’s question, but the question was pretty much rhetorical anyway. Right?

 **PointMan** – _8:20 pm  
_ What?

 **theforger** – _8:20 pm  
_ You have a post about _Sense and Sensibility_ , calling it the greatest love story ever.  
Do you really think that?

 **PointMan** – _8:20 pm  
_ Don’t tell me. You’re a _Romeo and Juliet_ fan?

 **theforger** – _8:21 pm  
_ Theirs is the truest love.  
But before you attack me!  
No, I don’t think _R &J_ is the greatest love story ever.  
Theirs is a beautifully tragic story.  
As a side note: Mercutio is the best.

 **PointMan** – _8:21 pm  
_ Mercutio is the only one in the play who had _any_ idea how stupid Romeo is.  
And he’s got the best speech in the whole play.

 _Be still my heart_. Eames thought. The man knew his Shakespeare. And agreed with Eames as to the best character in _Romeo and Juliet_. To be fair, there wasn’t all that much competition in that particular play, but still, it was the thought that counted. Eames’ fingers flew over his keyboard, typing the speech he had long ago memorised, back when at boarding school they put on a production of _Romeo and Juliet_ and Eames had gotten into an argument with the director, refusing to play the titular part of Romeo for one reason and one reason only: Mercutio’s Queen Mab speech. Which was obviously the speech PointMan was referring to.

“What’s got _you_ so excited?” Yusuf asked, more out of conversational habit than because he wanted to know.

“Shakespeare.” Eames replied.

 **theforger** – _8:23 pm_  
O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.   
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes   
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone   
On the fore-finger of an alderman,   
Drawn with a team of little atomies   
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;   
This is that very Mab   
That plats the manes of horses in the night,   
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,   
Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:   
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,   
That presses them and learns them first to bear,   
Making them women of good carriage.

 **PointMan** – _8:23 pm  
_ You skipped a bit.

Eames caught his breath, staring at the words for a moment. PointMan didn’t just know Shakespeare. He _knew_ Shakespeare.

 **theforger** – _8:23 pm  
_ Artistic license, darling. ;)

 **PointMan** – _8:24 pm  
_ Why do I get the feeling you just typed it up from memory?

 **theforger** – _8:24 pm  
_ Because I am a consummate braggart?

 **PointMan** – _8:24 pm  
_ Maybe because you have a shrine dedicated to Mercutio on your Shakespeare collection.

Eames froze, staring at the message. PointMan had been through his blog. True, the Shakespeare shrine was pretty obvious and it took no more than a cursory glance to see how much Eames liked Shakespeare. But PointMan _had_ to have gone to his blog to see the Mercutio part of the Shakespeare collection. Eames was delighted. (To say the least.)

 **theforger** – _8:24 pm  
_ You’ve gone through my blog!

 **PointMan** – _8:24 pm  
_ Only because you stalked my blog first.

 **theforger** – _8:25 pm  
_ What do you think of my Bloody Hot Men?

Eames was testing to see how far through his blog PointMan had gone. It was possible that he had only taken a cursory glance at his blog, but it was also possible that he had intrigued PointMan as much as PointMan intrigued him. (Not very likely, but _still_ , the thought was there.)

 **PointMan** – _8:25 pm  
_ Some of them are more fap-worthy than others.

Eames’ eyes widened. PointMan was _definitely_ not any older than him for using “fap” (and appropriately!) and he was _admitting_ to the fact that he found some of the men attractive. So, _not_ homophobic. Well, _that_ was good since Eames was excruciatingly gay. And it would be awkward to become friends with a homophobe. So, the friendship crush was still on track. Eames smirked to himself as he typed up his response.

 **theforger** – _8:26 pm  
_ Have you fapped to my Bloody Hot Men?

 **PointMan** – _8:26 pm  
_ Not even once.

The problem about using text to talk with each other was that Eames couldn’t tell if PointMan was being serious or was using his dry wit again. (Maybe both at once?)

 **theforger** – _8:26 pm  
_ Aw! I thought we were getting to the sexting stage, darling!

 **PointMan** – _8:26 pm  
_ In your dreams.

Yes. _Definitely_ in Eames’ dreams.

 _8:27 pm  
_ So, if you don’t think _S &S_ is the greatest love story ever, and you don’t think _R &J_ is the greatest love story ever, what _do_ you think is the greatest love story ever?

Eames grinned at the blatant subject change. Well, he’d go along with it for now. But he’d figure out PointMan’s sex preferences soon enough or his name wasn’t Eames. So, he responded as logically as he could to PointMan’s question, pointing out the flaws of naming something the “greatest” without actually having any criteria to base that decision off of.

 **theforger** – _8:27 pm_  
Well, it depends on your criteria of love story.  
What constitutes a “love story”?  
What are the requirements for said love story to be “good”?  
What separates merely “good” love stories from “great” love stories?  
How often do you fap?

It was worth a shot.

 **PointMan** – _8:28 pm  
_ Blatantly ignoring the last question.

Still worth a shot.

Eames had a grand time debating criteria points and stories with PointMan, forgetting all about the time in favor of using PointMan’s own criteria to bring up some stories that _no one_ would normally classify as a “love story”. Then, somehow, they ended up listing a few things against each other with the question of “which one was better”. PointMan’s dry wit came out in spades as he deliberately played Devil’s Advocate for _anything_ Eames said. PointMan drew the line at calling the _Fast and Furious_ movies a work of feminist satire, which Eames only said to see PointMan’s reaction. (Which, predictably, was hilarious.) PointMan actually went on a rant about how _hilarious_ Aristophanes was and how it was a _crime against humanity_ that Eames had never read any of his plays. (Eames had. He was just pushing PointMan’s buttons).

 **PointMan** – _2:42 am_  
Shit!  
It’s late.  
I’ve got to go.

Eames glanced at the clock, belatedly realising the same thing. True to form, Yusuf was passed out on the couch, his laptop precariously balanced on his knees. Yusuf was more obsessed with chemistry than _anyone_ Eames had ever met. Eames was pretty sure the man could and would cure cancer one day. Should the mood ever strike him, that is.

 **theforger** – _2:42 am  
_ Don’t you mean “early”, darling?

 **PointMan** – _2:42 am  
_ Depends on the time zone.

 **theforger** – _2:42 am  
_ Well, it’s nearly 3 in the morning for me, so I’m going to go with “early”.

Damn it all. Rule #1 of the Internet: Don’t give out personal information. And Eames had just told PointMan where in the world he was. Though, to be fair, he had already told him that Eames was British. Never mind that he wasn’t even _in_ Britain. A thought struck Eames and he groaned.

 _2:43 am  
_ And shite. I have class tomorrow.

It wasn’t even a class he could skip, either.

 **PointMan** – _2:43 am  
_ You have class?

 **theforger** – _2:43 am  
_ Oops. Was I not supposed to reveal private information about me?

_No, you fucking dumb ass._

_2:43 am_  
Besides, you probably won’t believe me anyway.  
I’m a TA. I’ve got a bunch of tests that I haven’t yet graded that I have to give out tomorrow.

Eames just gave up on himself at that point. Fuck everything. If he wanted to befriend PointMan, he’d _eventually_ have to give up some personal information to get some in return. Might as well get started. Since he hadn’t done it on purpose. But there was no reason for PointMan to know that.

 **PointMan** – _2:43 am  
_ I’ve got class tomorrow, too.  
But I’m _taking_ said class, not TA-ing it.

Eames smiled as PointMan gave up some information, too. (There _is_ a god.)

 **theforger** – _2:44 am_  
I do believe that you’re tired, darling.  
You’re turning nouns into verbs.  
Good morning!  
Parting is such sweet sorrow!

 **PointMan** – _2:44 am  
_ Idiot.

Eames grinned as he logged off. PointMan liked him. Or, at least, he found Eames amusing. Which was better than hating him, like Eames originally planned to have happen. PointMan was surprisingly adorable. Eames took Yusuf’s laptop and put it on the table to keep it from tumbling over, and tossed a blanket over his friend. He learned that Yusuf was better to leave sleeping. As much as he would bitch about falling asleep in a chair, he would be a million times worse if Eames woke him up. Eames groaned at the time and flopped over on his bed. Oh, he was going to be miserable tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

Eames _was_ , in fact, miserable. His thoughts of PointMan kept him up until nearly 4 and then he had to get up at 8 to start grading so he could be done before the 10:30 class. Shite. Eames sleepily started working on grading, finding out that apparently, basic statistics was _difficult_. Seriously, the major didn’t even require _serious_ statistics. Just the basics of means, medians, modes, and other shite like that. But apparently, that was _too_ difficult for the fucking idiots he had in his lab section. At 8:30, he realised he was dozing off, so he made himself a cup of tea and tried to focus. Absently, he opened up the conversation with PointMan, hoping that he could entertain himself (and keep himself awake) that way. He said whatever came to him mind, trying not to sound like a complete moron to PointMan. (He didn’t think he succeeded.)

 **theforger** – _8:33 am  
_ Darling, I’m afraid my grammar may actually suffer because I’m sleep deprived, rather than becasuse I’m lazy.

 _8:34 am  
_ And fro some reason, it is bothering me that youve never seen _Love Actually_.  
What are you? Some kind of snob?

 _8:35 am_  
You probably are.  
No offense, darling.

 _8:36 am_  
And I should be grading right now.  
But I’m a bit distracted.

 _8:37 am  
_ You see, you should watch the msterpece that is _Love Actually_.  
If you lvoe me, you’ll watch it.

 _8:38 am  
_ Oh, god, today’s gonna suck.

 _8:39 am  
_ sO fuckin tired

 _8:40 am  
_ It’s all your fault, darling

 _8:41 am  
_ Makin me stay up late to debate with your fantastic brain.

 _8:42 am  
_ I confess, I’m just messaging you to keep myself awake.

 _8:43 am  
_ Not enough tea for this shite

 _8:44 am  
_ God. The tea in America _sucks_.

 _8:45 am_  
You bloody colonials.  
Always ruining good tea by tossing it in a harbor.

Eames didn’t realise he had fallen asleep until he jerked awake with the imprint of his keyboard on his cheek. He blinked blearily at the time and panicked for a moment before he realised that he still had some time. He shuffled through the tests, happily noting that he only had a handful more to finish up.

 _10:06 am_  
Fuck!  
Dalring, your suppose to kep me awake!  
Damn it al.  
Your little icon is mocking me.  
I hate it.  
Specifically the part where it tells me youre offline.

Eames managed to finish all the tests _and_ get to class on time. He dutifully informed his students that he was half-asleep when he graded their tests so they should double- and triple- check his math. Not that it would help them much if they couldn’t even get _means_ , but it was the thought that counted. At the very least, they couldn’t blame _him_ for not ensuring the math was right, since he informed them. Right? Shite. He’d double-check the grades after class. Or whenever he had time. _If_ he ever had time. Fuck.

“Um, Eames?” Eames blinked at the girl from over his cup of tea. Shite. Questions on the assignment. For the most part in the lab, the students worked on their own, only calling on him when they had a question. This particular student had a _lot_ of questions. And it wasn’t because she was stupid either. For some reason, she hadn’t yet picked up on the “I’m gay” vibe Mal _swore_ Eames projected.

“Yes?” He asked.

“I had a question about…” Eames struggled to maintain his focus on her. He had already answered this question for her. Three times. He sighed and sipped his tea, hoping it would help more than it did. Bloody American crap. When she finished explaining her problem, Eames went about explaining how to get the correct answer, hoping against hope she’d figure out he was _not_ interested before he had to point it out to her. Her low-cut shirt was doing about as much for him as her short skirt was. (Which was, to say, _nothing_.)

It invariably happened that a few of his students fell in love with him. They also fought over getting into his lab section. Three semesters as a TA and Eames had _yet_ to not have to inform his advisor of inappropriate behaviour on the part of a student towards him. It was apparently his accent. Americans didn’t know what to do when confronted with a bloody foreign accent. Not that their accents were normal, but Eames knew that their culture was weirdly possessive of “not having an accent”. Whatever.

“You look dead.” Yusuf told him when they met up for lunch.

“I _am_ dead.” Eames groaned. “Melissa flirted again.”

“Low-cut shirt?” Yusuf asked, not at _all_ sorry for Eames’ plight.

“Complete with a miniskirt. Or whatever they’re called. It was _too_ short for decency.” Eames grumbled to his pizza.

“ _You_?” Yusuf smirked. “Lecturing about _decency_?”

“It’s a right scary world, innit?” Eames chuckled.

“You’re telling me.” Yusuf sighed. “Anyway, there’s a party tomorrow that Nash is throwing.”

“He’s an idiot.” Eames complained, the same way he always did when Nash was brought up in conversation.

“But he throws good parties.” Yusuf shrugged, not denying the “idiot” part.

“I’m dead on my feet, Yusuf.” Eames whinged. “I barely slept last night.”

“So come out with me, get outrageously drunk and sleep it off Saturday.” Yusuf pleaded. “You _know_ I can’t do parties by myself.”

“It’s not _my_ fault you had that issue with the cat.” Eames grinned at the memory.

“I’ve never met a cat more ill-tempered than that one.” Yusuf asserted stubbornly.

“The cat only hated _you_.” Eames reminded him.

“Whatever.” Yusuf waved the thought away. “You’re coming with me, so stop bitching.”

“Yes, master.” Eames rolled his eyes.

It was eight cups of tea and three bathroom breaks later that Eames finally had the time to log back on to his blog. He clicked absent-mindedly through his Bloody Hot Men, wondering if he had time for a good wank before Yusuf got back from dinner with his advisor. Eames thought about eating real food. That was probably more important than a good wank. Nah. Orgasms won out over food in his mind.

 **PointMan** – _6:00 pm  
_ I promise to watch _Love Actually_ soon.  
I’m sorry that our tea sucks. I wouldn’t know since I don’t drink tea.  
I’m sorry you don’t like my icon. I thought it was adorable.

Eames felt his face split into a grin as the messages popped up. _Why, hello there, darling._ Then he actually _read_ said messages and almost cried. PointMan never had tea! That was a crime. A crime against the laws of nature. Seriously.

 **theforger** – _6:00 pm_  
Darling, you’re going to be the end of me.  
YOU’VE NEVER HAD TEA?!  
This is a problem.  
I can’t believe you’ve never had tea.

 **PointMan** – _6:00 pm_  
I didn’t say I’d never had tea.  
I said I didn’t drink tea.

Okay, point to PointMan.

 **theforger** – _6:00 pm_  
Impossible.  
If you had tea, you would drink it.

Ha! Point to Eames! And Eames was barely awake anymore!

 **PointMan** – _6:00 pm_  
I’ve had tea.  
I didn’t like it.

 **theforger** – _6:00 pm  
_ If you’ve had the shite that you people call “tea”, then I quite understand, darling.  
I will teach you _proper_ tea.

 **PointMan** – _6:01 pm_  
I can’t stay long.  
I’m meeting a friend for dinner. I haven’t seen her in a long time.

Well, shite. Eames was going to have to go back to his original plan. His stomach rumbled. Maybe food _was_ a better option before getting outrageously drunk with Yusuf… But the _most_ important thing was educating PointMan on tea. Which he could do whether or not PointMan was online.

 **theforger** – _6:01 pm_  
By all means, attend to your friend.  
I have detailed instructions to write out for you.  
Pay me no mind.

Abruptly, PointMan went offline, probably because his friend arrived, and Eames went about his business typing up the detailed instructions for the silly American who had never had tea before. Not _real_ tea. So, he created what he lovingly referred to as How To Make A Proper English Tea: A Guide For You Bloody Yanks Who Like To Ruin Good Tea, You Fucking Twats. (It was a _brilliant_ title in Eames’ opinion.) Eventually, Eames got himself some food and kept typing messages to PointMan, entertaining himself by whinging about all the stupid fucking freshmen he had to deal with and how the “stupid fucking Yanks” ruined everything that was good and holy about tea. He then had a good wank to his favourite picture on his Bloody Hot Men page and passed out, hopefully until he forgot that he agreed to go to Nash’s party the next night.


	4. Chapter 4

Eames kept sneaking glances at the blog the entire next day, hoping for _something_ out of PointMan in reaction to his tea fetish (it was universally known that Brits’ adoration for their tea was on the same level as a fetish) and general whinging about life. He had steadfastly refrained from adding any new messages, since he basically wrote a novel to PointMan anyway. It wasn’t until after he ate dinner (once again, by himself, because he’s pathetic like that) that he gave in to the temptation to type something new to PointMan.

 **theforger** – _8:16 pm_  
I’m starting to think you don’t love me anymore, darling.  
But then again, I don’t think you’ve even been on in the last twenty-four hours, anyway.

And then the little dot next to PointMan’s screen name that indicated online status clicked green and Eames sat up, excitedly. Damn it all, he was like a fucking puppy. He only talked with PointMan for a few hours and now he was turning into a goddamn puppy for the man. Shite. It was a good thing PointMan didn’t know that Eames was a damnable puppy.

 **theforger** – _8:17 pm_  
Hey!  
Your little icon is all “I’m here!” now!  
This pleases me.

 **PointMan** – _8:17 pm  
_ You’re so weird.

It was the first thing PointMan had said to him in a day and it was an insult and it _still_ made Eames grin. God, he was a fucking goner.

 **theforger** – _8:17 pm  
_ Awww… Darling, I missed you, too.

 **PointMan** – _8:17 pm  
_ I was busy. And I haven’t had time to either try tea or watch _Love Actually_.

 **theforger** – _8:17 pm  
_ You break my heart, darling.

 **PointMan** – _8:17 pm  
_ If I didn’t break your heart by calling you a dyslexic asshole, I doubt anything will.

 **theforger** – _8:17 pm  
_ If you hate _Love_ _Actually_ , that might actually be the line, darling.

 **PointMan** – _8:17 pm  
_ Watch _The Princess Bride_ and then we’ll talk.

Oh! A challenge! True, Eames had never seen the movie, but he never had the inclination until PointMan suggested it.

 **theforger** – _8:17 pm  
_ Deal, darling.

 **PointMan** – _8:17 pm  
_ Since I have no way of obtaining the “correct” tea right now, the only thing I can do is watch _Love Actually_.

 **theforger** – _8:17 pm_  
Not worth it.  
You must experience both at once.

 **PointMan** – _8:17 pm  
_ Okay. I’ll get the tea tomorrow, since it’s a Saturday.

 **theforger** – _8:18 pm_  
Oh! Here’s an idea, darling!  
We watch the movies at the same time.  
Give each other commentary.  
And we both drink tea.  
Made the proper way, of course. ;)

 **PointMan** – _8:18 pm  
_ Of course.

 **theforger** – _8:18 pm  
_ I want to take that as absolute agreement, but I feel like you’re just being sarcastic.

 **PointMan** – _8:18 pm  
_ How could you tell?

 **theforger** – _8:18 pm  
_ You’re delightful.

PointMan was silent for a couple minutes before a hurriedly typed out apology and the excuse that one of his friends was dragging him to a party popped up on the screen. Eames pouted for a moment.

“Party time!” Yusuf yelled, throwing the front door open. “Let’s go!” Eames obediently shut down his laptop and grabbed his trainers, shoving his feet in them unceremoniously while Yusuf tried to pump him up. (He mostly failed at it). True to form, Nash’s party was actually pretty fun. A few of Eames’ other friends were there and it made the evening so much more interesting when Eames noticed a couple staring at him and Yusuf.

The girl was petite with dark brown hair and big, brown eyes. She seemed a little bit tipsy and seemed more than happy to sit against the wall with the guy next to her, casting “woe is me” eyes at Yusuf the entire time. Not that Yusuf noticed, the great prat. She was cute and looked intelligent (the fact that she was enamoured on Eames’ friend notwithstanding). The guy next to her was more enthralling anyway. Eames kept one eye on him while he continued laughing and talking with his friends.

He was absolutely, disgustingly adorable. His hair was dark brown and curly and messed up in a way that Eames had the sneaking suspicion he _never_ wore. The guy shifted and brushed his hair out of his eyes in an unfamiliar way, telling Eames he was right. Stranger did _not_ wear his hair like that. Chances were, the girl was the one who made him wear it that way. She also probably dressed him. He looked young, younger than he probably was. He was lean with round, boyish features, and wasn’t even slouching, despite sitting on a comfortable couch. The guy, whoever he was, was _definitely_ checking him out. Eames thought about going over there, flirting a bit, maybe pick the guy up, but Yusuf distracted him. And then, the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to pick up some random guy. He had PointMan to talk to.

It was _really_ sad that he was putting off sex to talk to a stranger on the Internet. In retrospect, it should have been the first sign that he wasn’t just friendship crushing on PointMan. Unfortunately, Eames was never in the habit of examining the reasons for his behaviour. Instead, he usually just followed his whims and did what he wanted. (Hey! It worked for the rest of his life. He saw no reason in changing it.)

As Yusuf predicted, Eames got _outrageously_ smashed and had a _horrible_ hang over the next day. He blearily made himself a cup of tea and remembered that he had a date with PointMan to watch _Love Actually_. (Never mind that it wasn’t really a date. Never mind that Eames wasn’t sure he would mind if it actually _was_ a date.) He logged on, spotted that PointMan was online, and promptly sent him a message.

 **theforger** – _1:57 pm  
_ Are you prepared, darling?

 **PointMan** – _1:57 pm  
_ I’ve got the tea ready.  
I’ve got _Love Actually_ set up.  
All that’s left is to hit play.

 **theforger** – _1:57 pm  
_ Wonderful. I am also prepared.

 **PointMan** – _1:57 pm  
_ Okay, the instant it turns 2, we both hit play.

Eames paused, staring at the little number on his screen. True, it was almost 2, but he didn’t realise that PointMan was _in his damn time zone!_ (Seriously, what the fuck?) The minor thought in the back of Eames’ mind that reminded him on a semi-regular basis that he would never meet PointMan, regardless of what he wanted, suddenly shut up. True, the time zone was still a big chunk of the Earth, but PointMan was American, so the area in which he could be living was significantly smaller and significantly closer than what Eames had been previously imagining. Well, shite.

 **theforger** – _1:58 pm_  
I mean, I knew you were American, but I didn’t know we were in the same time zone, darling.  
You knew, didn’t you?  
And you didn’t tell me?!

Eames would have _liked_ to be upset about it, but he was just so fucking happy that he actually had a shot of meeting PointMan at some point in his life that he couldn’t _really_ get mad. So, he turned it into a joke.

 _1:59_  
This is information I need, darling!  
I feel betrayed.  </3

 **PointMan** – _1:59 pm_  
Shhhh.  
The movie is about to start.

 **theforger** – _1:59 pm  
_ You _are_ aware that we can start the movie whenever we want, right?

 **PointMan** – _1:59 pm  
_ Are you going to join me or make me do this alone?

And _that_ sounded sexual. Which was _not_ going to help Eames in the issue that he was finding. Namely, that he was becoming attracted to PointMan in a very unfortunate way.

 **theforger** – _1:59 pm  
_ Shutting up.

Of course, the movie was as lovely and wonderful and hilarious and sad as Eames remembered. It was somehow more intimate to Eames that he was watching the movie _and_ having a conversation with PointMan about said movie without actually interrupting said movie. PointMan informed a very delighted Eames that he _had_ , in fact, cried during the movie. Eames proceeded to mercilessly abuse that knowledge, though he was sure to let PointMan know that he _always_ cried when he watched _Love Actually_.

They had a heavy debate about the tea thing, which PointMan _mostly_ enjoyed. Eames made him describe, in detail, what he liked and what he didn’t about the tea, giving him a few other types of teas to try out before he knocked the drink entirely. Eames wasn’t sure if he could survive if PointMan hated the greatest drink to ever grace the surface of the planet. (Fuck, he’d forgive PointMan pretty much anything.)

And that was basically the start of Eames falling in love with PointMan.

Three months later, after the hell of examinations, in which PointMan was adorably stressed out about, and after the holidays, which involved an agonizing journey halfway across the planet for Eames, PointMan was _still_ talking to him. They had gotten to the point where Eames could _read_ the inflection he _knew_ PointMan would use if they were speaking. Eames spent _every_ wank session thinking of PointMan and picturing his favourite Bloody Hot Man in place of PointMan’s face. Said Bloody Hot Man was a man relaxing in a big arm chair, legs spread almost obscenely. His hair was dark and messed up, like he had run his fingers through it a few times, and he wore an expensive three-piece suit. His dark eyes bore into the camera with arrogant annoyance and for some reason _that_ was just the icing on the cake for Eames.

For the holidays, Eames went home to visit his mum, experiencing his _worst_ time in airports to date. Security pulled him aside for a random search, which took _way_ longer than it should have, and then Eames missed his flight. He managed to get on the next one, but was stuck in the airport for four hours. Unfortunately, the Wi-Fi was out, so Eames couldn’t even entertain himself on the Internet or with flirting horrendously with PointMan. Then, his second flight had already left by the time he got there, so Eames had to sit and wait for twelve hours in another bloody airport, which also, inconveniently, had no Wi-Fi. Eames was running on nearly 2 days of _no_ PointMan and it was driving him _crazy_!

He _finally_ touched down in London, and met up with his mum as he disembarked. Unfortunately, the reunion was short-lived because Eames’ luggage was lost. Eames didn’t fret too much about it, because his mum was on the case and the woman was bloody _terrifying_ when she wanted to be. Three hours later, his mum had managed to track down his luggage, yell at _three_ managers, _and_ make Eames laugh. He adored his mum. Then, they went home and she showed off the lovely supper she had made that just made Eames’ mouth water. Before he realised it, Eames had passed out in his bed without checking to see if PointMan had sent him anything. He panicked in the morning when the realisation hit him and he scrambled for his laptop, blatantly ignoring his dear mum in his anxiety to talk to PointMan. (Which should have been a sign, all things considered.)


	5. Chapter 5

What Eames found was twenty-one messages across the three days (seven messages a day to be exact) and they varied in worry, getting more and more panicked as the days dragged on. Not that PointMan was ever _panicked_ , but the “I haven’t talked to you in three days and I’m starting to think you don’t like me anymore” was more worry than Eames had ever seen PointMan type out. It was actually adorable. Eames could just _see_ PointMan arguing with himself as to how many messages he would send, trying not to be overwhelming or needy, but still having the urge to talk to Eames. Eames was grinning as he stared at the messages, reading them and re-reading them for a few minutes before he thought about responding.

“Who’s ‘PointMan’?”

Eames almost had a heart attack, flailing and looking around wildly to see his mum reading the messages over his shoulder. Eames inexplicably flushed at the intrusion. He had never been shy with his mum before, the both of them sharing _far_ more information than was apparently normal with each other. And his mum knew he never shied away from boasting about the men and women he had falling over themselves for him. So, at the sight of his blush, her curiosity intensified before Eames’ eyes to the point where he knew he would _not_ be leaving home without his mum knowing _everything_ Eames knew about PointMan.

“Just a bloke on the Internet.” Eames muttered, minimizing the window hurriedly. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his mum, it was that the messages from PointMan were adorable and _just for him_.

“Doesn’t look like ‘just a bloke’.” His mum settled in her chair with a cup of tea and gave Eames the “just answer my questions honestly and no one gets hurt” look that he had learned to fear.

“That’s all it is.” Eames insisted, stubbornly.

“But you want it to be more.” His mum nodded like she had just been enlightened.

“That’s…” Eames frowned. “Not the point, Mum.”

“That’s entirely the point, darling.” His mum smiled inscrutably. “Now, tell me about this bloke that you, for some obscure reason, haven’t gone for despite the fact you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not in love with him!” And Eames was blushing again. Damn it all. His mum was the _only_ person who could shame him. It wasn’t fair!

“Your blush says otherwise.” His mum replied, sipping her tea. “If you aren’t in love with him, then why are you smiling like you just won the lotto?”

“Because he was worried because I wasn’t able to log on in three days and…” Eames trailed off, blankly staring at the smug grin his mum was wearing. Shite. He was actually in love with PointMan. “Fuck me.” He muttered. He didn’t even _know_ the bloke’s name! He was properly fucked now.

“Language.” His mum corrected gently, even though twelve hours before he had heard her say worse (in _public_ , too!). “Now, darling, tell me all about him.”

So, Eames did. He thought about panicking about being in love with a stranger on the Internet, but his mum was calm and rational about the entire scenario, pointing out potential problems and solutions for said problems with the same easy-going manner that Eames adored about her. By the time he was returning to school, he felt better about the whole thing and resolved to get closer to PointMan. The semester started, giving Eames and entirely new group of stupid and enamoured students that were vying for his attention. Eames became a little obsessive in checking his blog, desperate not to miss _anything_ PointMan sent him. They continued their tradition of watching movies simultaneously, going from genre to genre without rhyme or reason. Eames wanted to make PointMan blush (even though he’d never see it), so when his turn came up, he suggested _50 Shades of Grey_. Not that he’d ever seen the movie (because he hadn’t and didn’t really have an inclination to, either) but he was _positive_ PointMan hadn’t.

 **PointMan** – _7:44 pm  
_ Oh, god.

 **theforger** – _7:44 pm  
_ Darling, I’m starting to think that you don’t trust me.

 **PointMan** – _7:44 pm  
_ I don’t.

 **theforger** – _7:44 pm_  
You’re such a liar.  
I trust you with my name.

 **PointMan** – _7:45 pm  
_ You’ve never told me your name.

Eames didn’t even hesitate. He _was_ in love with the bloke after all. Besides, his mum told him he’d have to take the first step in trust or PointMan wouldn’t give up any information about himself. So, Eames took the plunge without really thinking about it all that much.

 **theforger** – _7:45 pm  
_ Eames.

It took a full minute for PointMan to respond, and in that full minute, Eames panicked, knocked over his tea, started making a new cup, irritated Yusuf with his panicking, and got back to his computer, shifting around nervously. He had never been so nervous before. And _that_ included going to Shanghai on a whim and performing _As You Like It_ in French. (Which was _actually_ a thing, believe it or not.)

 **PointMan** – _7:46 pm  
_ I’m Arthur.

Eames’ heart stopped.

Arthur.

His name was Arthur.

 **theforger** – _7:46 pm  
_ Pleasure to meet you, Arthur.

 **PointMan** – _7:46 pm  
_ It’s nice to meet you, too, Eames.

Eames grinned at his screen. He actually started giggling, which made Yusuf throw a pillow at his face, which _almost_ spilled his tea again. And if Yusuf spilled Eames’ tea, there would be hell to pay. Eames bit back his nervous and slightly hysterical giggles as he could while he read the abrupt influx of messages from _Arthur_ (Eames knew his name now, he was going to abuse the shite out of it) regarding his friend “A”. Arthur (Eames was _still_ giggling) had been telling Eames all about his best friend, A, and her infatuation with Arthur’s now-ex TA, Y. Eames could only assume that they were the first letters of said individual’s names, but what sort of a name _started_ with a Y?

Well, Yusuf, but he didn’t count.

Unless the world was fucking tiny and Yusuf _was_ who Arthur was talking about. But that would just be absurd. Yusuf had a girl in one of his labs this semester who he was completely enamoured with, but just because her name was Ariadne… Eames paused, thoughtfully. Nope. There was _no_ way the world was that small. It just _was not_ possible. Eames shook his head and read all about how excited A was that Y _talked to her_ and _oh my god_ and _I’m so in love with him_ and whatever else she said. It made Eames smile at her exuberance and the obliging way Arthur kept him informed.

 **theforger** – _7:59 pm_  
She sounds adorable.  
But not more adorable than you, darling. ;)

 **PointMan** – _8:00 pm  
_ You’re weird.

Eames thought about what to say in reply and couldn’t come up with anything. But when Arthur didn’t reply in the next minute, he went for the obnoxious route.

 **theforger** – _8:01 pm  
_ Darling, don’t leave me!

 _8:02 pm_  
I’m bored.  
Entertain me.

 _8:03 pm  
_ I swear, if you don’t start paying attention to me…

What _exactly_ was Eames going to do in order to punish Arthur?

 _8:04 pm  
_ I’m not exactly sure where that threat was going to go…

They were talking through _text_ , which meant Eames couldn’t really do _much_. He could send Arthur porn or something, but that would require Arthur to actually pay attention enough to _open_ said file. And he’d probably get mad at Eames for doing that in front of A. But Eames was losing patience. He just needed his daily (hourly) Arthur-fix. God, he had it bad.

 _8:05 pm_  
I have it!  
I will torture you!

 _8:06 pm  
_ You leave me no choice.

Eames went for pay back the only way he knew how: bad spelling.

 _8:07 pm  
_ dalring, u ned 2 cum back bc i mis u

 _8:08 pm  
_ nd m SPER BOERD

 _8:09 pm_  
nd if this doesnt work, i dunno what wil  
pls ansr, dalrign

 _8:10 pm_  
hey  
rember when we were tlkng abt mi blody hot men?

 _8:11 pm  
_ i totes fap whn i go back 2 lok at them

 _8:12 pm  
_ i mght b fapping now

 _8:13 pm_  
m not  
m a liar  
sry 4 lyin 2 u </3

 _8:14 pm_  
do u fap to mi pics  
i hop u do

 _8:15 pm  
_ theyr hot

 _8:16 pm_  
i bet u hav favrites  
tel mi u hav favrouties

 _8:17 pm_  
Arthur  
BORED  
Fix it!  
Please?  
:(

 **PointMan** – _8:17 pm_  
I thought I cured you of your terrible spelling.  
You disappoint me, Eames.

Eames sighed in relief, ignoring the irritated glance Yusuf sent him. Yusuf had _known_ how obnoxious Eames was when they first met and _still_ had been willingly living with Eames for two years. So, he could suck it.

 **theforger** – _8:17 pm  
_ Darling! I missed you!

 **PointMan** – _8:18 pm_  
A is here.  
She wanted to know what we had been talking about.  
I was enlightening her.

Okay, _now_ Eames had to embarrass the shite out of his darling Arthur.

 **theforger** – _8:18 pm  
_ You didn’t tell her about our mutual wank sessions, did you?

 **PointMan** – _8:19 pm  
_ Behave.

Eames couldn’t be positive, because text gave him very little to work with, but he was relatively certain that he just embarrassed Arthur. And he wished he could see the blush. It would probably be charming as fuck.

 **PointMan** – _8:20 pm  
_ A likes your Bloody Hot Men page.

 **theforger** – _8:20 pm  
_ But do _you_ , darling?

 **PointMan** – _8:21 pm  
_ Of course.

Eames pumped his fist in the air in victory. Arthur _had_ been wanking off to his Bloody Hot Men! Eames considered that a victory. It meant Arthur was _not_ straight, which _only_ meant good things for Eames and his absolute adoration of the man.

 **theforger** – _8:21 pm  
_ What’s your favorite?

 **PointMan** – _8:22 pm  
_ What’s _your_ favorite?

Playing coy. Eames frowned, but obediently typed up his response. Like his mum said, he had to give information to get information in return.

 **theforger** – _8:23 pm_  
There’s one that’s a little older. It’s labelled “fap forever”.  
It’s got a guy in a three-piece suit.  
Damn.  
Just damn.

Eames had _no doubt_ that Arthur was looking up the picture as they spoke, and so didn’t feel too bad when it took him a couple minutes to respond. However, he was _not_ expecting Arthur to answer his question. He was more of expecting a reaction to the picture Eames was referring to. But nope.

 **PointMan** – _8:25 pm_  
I like the one with the guy in the sweats.  
He’s got a lot of tattoos and isn’t looking at the camera.

Eames choked on his tea.

Yusuf gave him a funny look.

Eames re-read the last two sentences.

Eames choked on his tea again.

Yusuf gave him another funny look.

Eames had _completely_ forgotten that he had, on a whim, posted one of the pictures he had taken to help Mal in her final project for her photography class. Granted, it had been a few years, but Eames hadn’t changed much in the looks department since then. Eames opened up the Bloody Hot Men page, scrolling to find his picture and looking at it again. Well, shite. He looked like a tart, didn’t he? Mal had insisted on making him look as sexual as possible, since her project was exploring sexuality, and Eames had apparently forgotten this fact entirely.

He wore sweat pants that were slung so low on his hips that they were _barely_ decent. He was just standing there, against a brick wall (which was cold as _fuck_ as Eames remembered it), looking away from the camera to show his profile. Eames remembered Mal fussing over his arms and where he should position them, but the picture she had chosen (and therefore the one Eames had gotten) was one where he hadn’t realised Mal was still taking pictures, waiting for her next direction. His thumbs were hooked in the waistband of the pants simply to keep them from falling any lower than they already were. The picture made it look like he was about to disrobe, though.

Mal had found the picture artistic and sexual and _c’est magnifique!_ Eames had found it weird and a little degrading and, in retrospect, he was a bloody tart for agreeing to do that shite with Mal.

And Eames had _yet_ to respond to Arthur. Shite. He was probably bloody panicking.

 **theforger** – _8:26 pm_  
Oh.  
Thanks!

Fuck. Arthur didn’t know it was _him_. And they had _just_ learned each other’s names. It wouldn’t do for him to know what Eames looked like. Not yet. And not if Arthur was actually a serial killer playing the long game.

 _8:27 pm_  
I wouldn’t have picked that one for you.  
It’s kind of funny that you picked it, though.

 **PointMan** – _8:27 pm  
_ Why?

 **theforger** – _8:28 pm_  
It’s one I uploaded on a whim.  
Didn’t pay much attention to it.

 _8:29 pm  
_ Have you wanked off to it?

Eames’ curiosity was eating at him. If Arthur had wanked off to a picture of Eames, then Eames _knew_ Arthur would find him attractive in real life and then he wouldn’t be so averse to _dating_ Eames and bloody hell, _were they dating?_ They had been talking and watching movies together regularly and fuck, Eames was in love with Arthur and what if Arthur just wanted to be friends, because Eames was pretty certain he wouldn’t be able to do that if they ever met in person…

 **PointMan** – _8:29 pm  
_ None of your business.

Eames grinned, ignoring the diatribe that had suddenly been silenced in his mind. Arthur _totally_ wanked off to a picture of Eames. Fuck yes.

 **theforger** – _8:29 pm_  
That’s as much of a “yes” as I’m going to get from you.  
Well, I’m flattered, Arthur.  
That you’d fap to one of my photos.

Arthur was _so_ blushing, now. Eames grinned.

 _8:30 pm  
_ Don’t feel embarrassed, darling.

 **PointMan** – _8:30 pm  
_ I’m not!

 **theforger** – _8:31 pm  
_ You’re adorable. ;)


	6. Chapter 6

Eames got Arthur’s phone number a week later, much to Eames’ immense surprise. Not that Eames wasn’t working up to it himself (since he was basically obsessed with finding out everything he could about Arthur), but he hadn’t been sure how to broach the topic. And also, he was a little perturbed that _he_ kept having to give out information to get some in return. Maybe Arthur wasn’t as invested in whatever it was they were doing as Eames was. That was entirely possible, but the thought entirely went out of Eames’ head when he finally got Arthur’s phone number. ( _Finally!_ ) They had been talking about A and Y again (both of which Eames was suspicious about).

 **PointMan** – _1:21 pm  
_ A is flirting nonstop with Y.  
I think they need to just get together already.  
Though, Y _is_ her TA.  
That might be frowned on by the university.

 **theforger** – _1:22 pm  
_ Only if A stays in Y’s class.

 **PointMan** – _1:22 pm_  
True.  
Hey, I have class. I’ve got to go.

Eames pouted and glanced at the clock. He thought he had another half-hour with Arthur before he had to go to teach his lab section.

 **theforger** – _1:22 pm  
_ At 1:30?

 **PointMan** – _1:22 pm_  
Okay, it’s a study group.  
We have a project to work on.  
It’s going to suck.

 **theforger** – _1:23 pm_  
Why?  
Bad at working with groups?

Eames winced. That was _not_ the way to a man’s heart.

 **PointMan** _– 1:23 pm_  
Kind of.  
I can work with others.  
Others can’t work with me.  
I’m a dick, apparently.

 **theforger** – _1:23 pm_  
You are, darling.  
But that’s why I love you.  <3

Eames grinned at his computer.

 **PointMan** – _1:24 pm  
_ You’re such a dork.

 **theforger** – _1:24 pm  
_ Made you smile, didn’t I?

 **PointMan** – _1:24 pm  
_ Shut up.

Eames chuckled, delighted that he could make his darling smile without any effort on his part. That was smile-inducing by itself without the added benefit of knowing that he could _also_ make Arthur blush just as easily.

 **theforger** – _1:24 pm_  
Well, I shall wait here for you, darling.  
And probably wank off to entertain myself.

 **PointMan** – _1:24 pm  
_ You could always text me if you get too bored.

And Arthur typed out his phone number.

Eames had it memorised in a few seconds.

Eames typed out the number and a message and froze.

What if Arthur was lying to him?

What if Arthur was just toying with him?

Fuck. Shite. Bollocks. Every other swear word Eames could think of at once.

Eames shook his head, silently yelling at himself for being such a fucking pansy, and sent the message. 

 **Eames –**  
_Arthur?_

 **New Phone Number –**  
_Hi, Eames._

 **Eames –**  
_Darling! It IS you!_

 **New Phone Number –**  
_If I was going to give you a fake phone number, I would have done it before now._

Eames grinned and saved the number in his phone with a little heart next to it, because he was nothing if not a fucking romantic little fucker. Also, it would make Arthur blush if he ever found out (which hopefully he would). 

 **Eames –**  
_Now, I KNOW it’s you.  
__You terrible flirt, you._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_Do you think Y is really interested in A?  
__I don’t want her to get hurt._

 **Eames –**  
_Nice subject change, darling._  
_If A is the way you describe her, she’s lovable.  
__She’ll have Y wrapped before he knows it._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_Yeah.  
__I hope so._

 **Eames –**  
_Trust the expert, darling._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_You’re an expert on relationships now?_

 **Eames –**  
_I’m brilliant._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_Uh-huh…_

 **Eames –**  
_The sass! It’s overwhelming!_

Yusuf came back to the apartment, scowling and blushing in turn, grumbling under his breath about how _stupid_ he was and _why_ couldn’t he just be normal around her and blah blah blah. Eames wasn’t _really_ paying attention to Yusuf’s painful and pathetic crush on one of his students anymore. Mostly since he blatantly ignored all the advice Eames gave him. Granted, said advice was “tell her to drop the class and make out with her to show her your feelings”. (That got him punched, not that Yusuf could punch very well, but it was the thought that counted.) Then Eames pointed out that Yusuf could always just _ask_ the bloody girl out like a man, rather than stuttering and blushing and turning into an idiot (which just got him punched again). So, Eames was rather frustrated with his friend and not likely to pay much attention to Yusuf’s woes about said girl.

So, he dragged Yusuf to dinner, all the while blatantly ignoring Yusuf’s complaining by texting Arthur with a finesse that only Eames could achieve. (He prided himself on it.) 

 **Eames –**  
_So, I’ve come to the conclusion that I know NOTHING about what you look like._  
_Which is a dumb thing to realise after we’ve been talking for months._  
_Especially since said conversations have been on the Internet._  
_But, darling, I need to know.  
__For scientific reasons._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_Do these supposed “scientific reasons” have anything to do with your dick?_

Yes. In _every_ fucking way.

 **Eames –**  
_Noooo…_

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_You’re such a terrible liar._

 **Eames –**  
_Oh contraire, darling._  
_I am a phenomenal liar. And actor.  
__You’re just perceptive._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_So, why do you want to know what I look like?  
__I don’t know what you look like._

 **Eames –**  
_I’d send you a picture, but I don’t want to scare you off. <3_

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_Like you could at this point._

Eames’ heart stopped at that one. Arthur wasn’t going to just run away? Well, they _had_ been talking for months and Arthur gave Eames his phone number and… Well, Eames was being a bit daft, wasn’t he? He was glad that it seemed like Arthur wasn’t going to get scared off anytime soon. Eames smiled at his phone, which earned him a punch from Yusuf, who was tired of being ignored apparently. When they got through the door and swiped in, Yusuf turned to Eames with a cough, flushing slightly, forcing Eames to pay attention to his surroundings.

“She’s right there.” Eames looked over at the tiny girl who had been eyeing Yusuf last semester and could have laughed. _Of bloody course_ his friend would fall for a girl who _obviously_ liked him back and would be afraid that she’d say no. His friend was a fucking idiot. Ariadne spotted them and flushed, muttering something to her companion. When he turned around, Eames forced his gaze away, to avoid staring. Yep, it was the fucking adorable stranger from Nash’s party. Though, he was immaculately dressed in a tailored suit, which fit him _too_ well, and his hair was slicked back, aging him a few years.

Because Eames was a glutton for punishing his friends, he led Yusuf to the table _right_ next to Ariadne and her friend. Yusuf gave Eames a dark look, but settled down with his back to Ariadne, giving Eames the privilege of looking at Ariadne’s _stupidly_ gorgeous friend for the entire meal. Eames sent a few messages to Arthur before Yusuf claimed his entire attention.

 **Eames –**  
_Aww, darling! <3_  
_You DO care!_  
_I was just curious.  
__You KNOW how my curiosity gets._

"I hate you so much.” Yusuf snarled, quietly.

“Just ask her out already.” Eames replied, easily.

“She’s my _student_!”

“Not if she transfers out of your lab section.” Eames shrugged. His phone buzzed, but Yusuf was still pissy at him, so he ignored it for the moment.

“She’s like five years younger than me!”

“She’s a junior and you’re only in your second year of grad school, which you started early, need I remind you.” Eames replied, dryly. “Three years. Max.”

“I hate you _so_ much.” Yusuf apparently hated logic. Eames looked at his phone, signaling that he was done dealing with Yusuf being irrational. 

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_You’re ridiculous._

 **Eames –**  
_You say the nicest things, darling._

“What’s your boy-toy saying now?” Yusuf asked.

“He’s not my boy-toy.” Eames replied, automatically.

“Fine, your boyfriend.” Yusuf waved it away.

“I wish.” Eames sighed.

“Just ask him out and stop being a pansy about it.” Yusuf said.

“Says the kettle.” Eames gave Yusuf a look. “At least _you_ have physically met your one true love and interacted like normal human beings. Plus, she’s _totally_ got the hots for you. Arthur is just… a friend on the Internet.”

“Bull shit.” Yusuf gave Eames the same look back. “He’s in love with you, too.” Eames took a sip of his drink, glancing at his phone as it buzzed. And promptly choked on the water.

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_Love you, too.  
__:-*_

"What is it?” Yusuf asked. Eames passed the phone over, brain trying to find air and figure out what the _fuck_ had Arthur gotten into? Arthur, his Arthur, his darling Arthur, who was more sarcastic and dry-witted than anyone Eames had ever met in his life, had sent him a _kissy face!_ And admitted that he loved Eames! Granted, Eames had been teasingly saying it for a while (never mind that Arthur didn’t know it was real) but _Arthur said it back!_ Eames was deliberately ignoring the fact that it was obviously a joke.

“Didn’t I tell you he loved you?” Yusuf laughed, handing the phone back. Eames scowled at his friend. (Okay, so privately agreeing and publically agreeing were two _very_ different things and Eames would _never_ publically agree with something so impossible.) Eames dutifully started texting back, blatantly ignoring the kissy faces Yusuf was making at him from across the table. (And _he_ was the immature one, apparently.) 

 **Eames –**  
_I knew you loved me!_  
_Come with me and be my love,  
__And we will all the pleasures prove!_

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_Christopher Marlowe._

 **Eames –**  
_Stop, darling.  
__You don’t need to woo me any harder._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_I reiterate my previous sentiment.  
__You’re ridiculous._

 **Eames –**  
_Ridiculously adorable._  

"Stop flirting with your boyfriend.” Yusuf grinned.

“Never.” Eames obediently put his phone down. “So, has Mal roped you into being the bartender for her wedding yet?”

“No.” Yusuf scowled. “She asked me to invent new drinks named after her and Dom that are cheap to make but pack a punch.”

“It’s more cost effective.” Eames nodded.

“Yes, but she’s not even going to _pay me_ for this!” Yusuf whined.

“Your life is so hard.” Eames commiserated.

“Nobody appreciates my genius.” Yusuf nodded.

“This is truth.” Eames’ phone buzzed and he happily looked it up, knowing he had made Yusuf smile without looking.

 

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_I could give you a run for your money._

 **Eames –**  
_We can’t prove that.  
__Since we don’t know what the other looks like._  

“What’s he saying?” Yusuf asked, curiously.

“He’s saying he’s more adorable than I am.” Eames mock-pouted.

"That’s probably true.” Yusuf agreed. “You’re ugly.”

“You wound me!” Eames teased, laughing. His phone buzzed, distracting them both.

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_You know your favorite Bloody Hot Man?_

 **Eames –**  
_First of all, it’s spelled “favourite”._  
_Bloody colonial._  
_Secondly, he IS my favourite._  
_Of course, I remember him.  
__I’ve wanked to him enough._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_I look a lot like him._  

Eames should have known better than to take a big gulp of water before reading the message Arthur sent him, especially considering the last time he had done that (mere minutes before) he had choked. But, alas, Eames was not _that_ trainable, and almost died as his body rejected the water he was trying to force into his lungs with his considerable gasp. Eames choked and sputtered, eyes watering as he struggled to relay what Arthur had said to Eames to Yusuf. Yusuf just looked amused, damn him. Eames handed his phone over, trying to figure out how lungs worked and what even was water while Yusuf looked at the message.

“Is your friend all right?” Eames paid _just_ enough attention to notice that he had captured the attention of the table next door. Both Ariadne and her friend looked concerned at the amount of coughing Eames was doing and Ariadne had gotten Yusuf’s attention to check on him. Aw. How sweet.

“He’s fine.” Yusuf promised, blushing. “He’s just emotionally stunted.” Which had _nothing_ to do with _anything_ they had been talking about. Yusuf liked to make fun of Eames at the _most_ inopportune times. Yusuf handed Eames his phone back and turned back to Ariadne, smiling. “Thanks for caring about this stupid lump.”

“It’s nothing.” The girl blushed a charmed shade of red.

“Just ask her out already.” Eames got out, subduing his coughing fit admirably. Yusuf turned bright red and spluttered nonsensically while Ariadne started giggling nervously. Because that’s what she did apparently.

“She’s going to say ‘yes’ if it helps.” Ariadne’s friend had a warm tone to it, showing more amusement than his face was trying to hide. He barely had _any_ accent whatsoever and he sounded like he wasn’t used to saying more than necessary, which was very similar to Arthur. Arthur was succinct and adorably so. As was Ariadne’s friend, it seemed.

“But…” Yusuf bit his lip.

“She’s then going to transfer out of your section.” Ariadne’s friend added.

“I like you.” Eames decided, grinning at Ariadne’s friend.

“Oh…” Yusuf and Ariadne looked at each other, hesitating.

“Hey!” Another bloke, tall and awkward and _interrupting_ , walked up to Ariadne’s friend with an overly friendly smile. “I know you’ve finished eating, but do you want to get some ice cream with me?”

“No, thanks.” Ariadne’s friend smiled, tightly. He _obviously_ wanted nothing to do with the other bloke. “I’ve got a lot of homework.”

“Oh.” The other bloke looked put out for a moment. “Do you want me to walk you back to your dorm?”

“No, thanks.” Ariadne’s friend glanced at Ariadne, who was consumed in Yusuf’s gaze apparently, looking for support and finding none. Eames narrowed his eyes at the new bloke, suspiciously. Something about him wasn’t sitting right in Eames’ mind. “Study session with Ariadne.”

“Oh.” The bloke deflated. “Well, I’ll see you around.” Ariadne’s friend didn’t respond as the bloke walked away.

“Who’s that ponce?” Eames asked, curious despite himself. If he was bothering Ariadne’s friend like that when he _obviously_ didn’t like it, then the bloke might do something stupid to get what he wanted. Eames didn’t wish that on _anyone_ , much less the cute and adorable ( _pay attention to me_ ) friend of Ariadne’s.

“No one.” Ariadne’s friend muttered, distracted. “Sorry, Yusuf. You’ll have to ask her out some other time.” He grabbed Ariadne and hauled her out of there, leaving Yusuf and Eames without looking back. Eames felt his heart sink even as his curiosity ate at him. He hoped Ariadne’s friend could take care of himself. Yusuf looked completely defeated by the disappearance of his bloody princess, so Eames left him alone to his brooding, going back to his phone. 

 **Eames –**  
_Don’t tease me, darling.  
__You know how much I love that picture._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_I’m not teasing._  
_I’m not joking._  
_Totally 100% serious.  
__I have the same body type, dark brown hair and brown eyes._

 **Eames –**  
_Careful, darling.  
__I might start wanking off to thoughts of you._

Which he had already been doing. Oops.

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_As if you haven’t done that already._

 **Eames -**  
_Stop spoiling all my secrets.  
__I’m trying to be mysterious._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_You’re failing._


	7. Chapter 7

Eames hated Yusuf. Seriously. The man needed to get over his bloody self and just _ask Ariadne out already!_ Eames had told him. Five times a day. For a week. And all Yusuf wanted to do was get drunk. On the bright side, he invented new drinks that were _stupid_ cheap but _extraordinarily_ potent, so Mal was happy. Yusuf had threatened to poison Eames’ tea if he so much as _breathed_ a word about Ariadne to Mal, so Eames was forced to keep quiet and _not_ say anything about her while Mal praised Yusuf’s work.

After Mal abruptly left, getting worried at a text message she received, Yusuf proceeded to test _exactly_ how potent his new concoctions were. And he didn’t even invite Eames to join him.

 **Eames –**  
_Yeah, my friend is really down, too._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_Why?_

 **Eames –**  
_He likes this bird. She’s actually quite lovely.  
__But he’s terrified of asking her out.  
__Even though he KNOWS she’d say yes.  
__I mean, it’s bloody obvious she likes him.  
__And he fucking ADORES her.  
__It’s stupid._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_Yeah, I know that feeling._

 **Eames –**  
_I’m going to kill him.  
__It’s the only option left._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_What about the girl?_

 **Eames –**  
_She’ll cry at his funeral.  
__It will be very sad.  
__But then she’ll be able to move on._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_I just don’t get what’s taking him so long.  
__If Y likes A, he should go for it.  
__Especially since I told him A would say yes._

 **Eames –**  
_I know the feeling, love._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_I just don’t know what else to do._

 **Eames –**  
_There’s nothing else TO do.  
__Though, A could always ask Y first.  
__If she’s sick of waiting, just do it._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_I tried that already.  
__She hit me and called me stupid.  
__I reminded her about her hatred of the patriarchy.  
__She hit me again._

 **Eames –**  
_She’s probably just nervous.  
__And scared that he won’t say yes.  
__Even though he will._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_Yeah. Probably.  
__I’ve actually got another friend coming over to try to help.  
__A is in a pretty bad state._

 **Eames –**  
_Well, give her my love.  
__Tell her to chin up.  
__If Y doesn’t ask her out, his loss.  
__And he’s bloody retarded._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_I can’t decide if that’s offensive or not._

 **Eames –**  
_If you’re on the fence, it probably is._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_True enough._

“Yusuf, mate, you should probably stop.” Eames informed the drunk chemist, obligingly.

“No!” Yusuf screamed, even though Eames was _right_ next to him. “I’m gonna drink until my feelings go _‘way_!”

“Right-o.” Eames nodded calmly. “Just sit here. I’ll go make you a new drink.”

“Yay!” Yusuf fell over, sloshing his drink onto the coffee table. Eames sighed and went to go fetch the biggest glass of water he could find and some paper towels to clean up with. Hopefully Yusuf didn’t vomit. While he was in the kitchen, he heard Yusuf singing sad songs to himself, very badly and very off-key, and hid all the alcohol he could find, hoping Yusuf wasn’t focused enough to notice how long he was gone.

“Try this one!” Eames said brightly, helping Yusuf sit upright and handing him the tall glass. “You have to finish the _whole_ thing before I’ll make you a new drink.”

“Fine.” Yusuf grumbled, sipping gingerly at the drink, like he didn’t trust it. Which he shouldn’t. Because it was water. Yusuf pouted at the drink, not too far gone to notice that he was drinking just standard tap water. “Eames!”

“You’re already going to be in a right state come tomorrow.” Eames said, trying to be placating. “I’m trying to minimize the damage to your liver.”

“I hate you.” Yusuf informed him.

"So you’ve told me.” Eames muttered, wiping up the mess Yusuf had made. Yusuf continued to grumble and sip the water grumpily while Eames took the trash to the bin in the kitchen. He pulled out his phone and texted Arthur, hoping he was having a better time with A than Eames was having with Yusuf. 

 **Eames –**  
_Well, he’s drunk._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_Gee, that sounds familiar._

 **Eames –**  
_I’ve decided our friends are idiots.  
__They belong together._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_If I could get A to think about someone other than Y for a moment, I’d be all for it.  
__Unfortunately, she’s drunk and pissy.  
__Luckily, M and D are here to help.  
__M likes babying people anyway.  
__So, she’s probably having fun._

 **Eames –**  
_I know people like that._

“Eames!” Yusuf shouted from his position on the couch, which was apparently too comfortable to leave. “New drink!” Eames took the empty water glass and eyed his friend warily, subtly checking to make sure he _actually_ drank it all. Eames returned to the kitchen, filled the glass with water and added some pink lemonade mix to make it more colorful and sweet so Yusuf couldn’t bitch at him.

“Cheers, mate.” Eames dutifully handed the glass over. Yusuf looked _much_ happier with the fact that the liquid was pink and _not_ clear. When he tasted it, his face screwed up as he tried to figure out what Eames had put _in_ said drink.

"Wha’s innit?” He asked, finally.

“Secret recipe.” Eames replied. “Finish it.”

An hour later, Eames was steadily giving Yusuf nothing but water, which the chemist had yet to figure out, had cleaned up Yusuf’s sick that he had gotten, luckily, just all over the bathroom, and hadn’t yet had the time to text Arthur. Yusuf cuddled up one of his pillows on the couch, nursing the latest glass of water and watching a romantic comedy, crying the whole time. Eames wasn’t sure what to do with him. Yusuf had never been so bad before. He was a needy drunk but he had never been emotional. Ariadne must have meant a lot to him.

Eames’ phone started ringing, distracting him.

“H’lo?” He didn’t even look at the screen, just answered absently. There was silence on the line. Eames looked at his screen, instantly focusing when he saw that it was _Arthur ( <3)_ who had called him. He would get to hear his darling’s voice?! “Arthur?”

“Uh…” Arthur cleared his throat nervously.

“Wha’s that?” Yusuf asked, pointing at Eames’ phone. Eames covered the microphone.

“Give me a minute.” He told Yusuf. “I’ll be right back. _Do not_ drink anything else.”

“Why’re’ya leaving me?” Yusuf whined. “I’m already all alone always.”

“If you wanna bitch, go get a girlfriend.” Eames replied, impatiently. Yusuf sniffled and looked back at the screen, pouting. Eames would have felt a little bad, except for the fact that the moron was _crying_ like he had been _dumped_ when the girl was _going to say yes!_ So, Eames walked out of the apartment and hoped Yusuf didn’t try to drink any more alcohol.

"Arthur, darling, are you all right?” Eames asked, wandering the hall without thinking.

"Uh, hi.” Arthur muttered. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to call.”

“Of course you meant to call.” Eames smirked. “Someone else might accidentally call. But you, darling… _You_ don’t do _anything_ on accident.”

“I accidentally yelled at my friend.” Arthur blurted out. Eames froze.

“Somehow, I doubt that was accidental, as well.” Eames replied slowly. “What happened?”

“He yelled at me for giving my phone number to a stranger.” Arthur replied.

“Darling, please tell me you didn’t get in a fight over me.” Eames sighed, fondly. If Arthur was fighting his friends for Eames, it was just going to lead to resentment further down the road. (Why was Eames thinking further down the road at all? Oh, right, because Arthur and Arthur was everything.) “Then again, I’d rather _not_ know that you’re giving out your number to other people.”

“No, just you.” Eames was _not_ excited beyond belief to hear that. Nope. (Liar.) “And he was being a dick anyway. He just wanted to be jealous and possessive of me.”

“I can pretty much understand where he’s coming from, love.” Eames chuckled humorlessly. If one of his best mates was just talking to someone online and then gave out his personal information, Eames would feel pretty protective. If _Arthur_ was giving his phone number out to other people, Eames would feel both betrayed and _pissed_.

“We were best friends back in high school.” Arthur explained. “But, he’s always been… intense. He’s two years older than me and went to college and met his now fiancée. She’s great. I love her to death. He had a similar breakdown when she and I became really good friends. He just has to get over the fact that he doesn’t have a monopoly on my life.”

“He’s probably also a little concerned, too.” Eames pointed out, wandering to the full-length window at the end of the hall. “You wouldn’t have been friends with him for so long if he didn’t care _a little_.”

“Stop being logical.” Arthur sighed. “I want to be mad at him.”

“Oh.” Eames chuckled, this time _with_ humor. “Well, you just had to say the word, love. I am a _professional_ when it comes to listening to people whinge.” He looked around for people to watch, finding only one lone figure on the bench below the building. The lamplight illuminated the figure enough for Eames to see the slicked-back hair and dutiful suit. Ariadne’s friend was sitting on the bench on the phone, leaning forward on his knees. He looked beautiful.

“Your friend is that bad, huh?” Arthur huffed out a soft laugh, distracting Eames from the sight before him.

“Normally I don’t mind his drama, because it tends to be hilarious.” Eames replied. “And he’s been helping me out with some stuff, so I can’t really bitch that much. I am considerably worse than him when it comes to whinging.”

“I can imagine.” Arthur grinned. Eames’ breath caught as Ariadne’s friend leaned back on the bench, letting himself lounge comfortably in a manner that was perfectly acceptable and appropriate for public, but for some reason was making Eames’ pants tight. “You all right, Eames?” Eames released an unsteady chuckle, trying to focus on Arthur, _not_ on the gorgeous bloke beneath him.

“Yes, love.” Eames sighed. “Just admiring beauty.”

“Someone new going to end up on the Bloody Hot Men page?” Arthur chuckled.

“If only.” Eames muttered, hoping Arthur hadn't heard that.

“What’s been causing _you_ stress?” Arthur asked. “You haven’t mentioned anything…”

“I…” Eames hesitated, trying to think of _any_ way to tell Arthur that _Arthur_ was the sole cause of stress in Eames’ life. “I have no idea how to tell you, love.”

“What?” Arthur blinked.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about me.” Eames said, managing to get the words out without choking on them. He laughed humorlessly. “Are you avoiding talking to your friends? They’re probably worried about you. Specifically the motherly one.”

“She’s probably going to kill me for running off.” Arthur sighed.

“Time to face the music, darling.” Eames laughed, good humor abruptly back. “And _I_ have a charming drunk chemistry grad student to baby.”

“Your friend is in chemistry?” Arthur asked.

“Hey.” Eames chided lightly. “You can hear about him any time. Go mend things with your friends. We’ll talk later.”

“Fine.” Arthur sighed. “But you owe me hilarious shenanigans involving your drunk chemistry grad student friend.”

“Indeed, I do.”

“Good night, Eames.”

“Good night, darling.”

Eames hung up and just looked at his phone, wondering what had just happened. _Something_ significant had just happened in his relationship with Arthur, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. Ariadne’s friend had just hung up as well. He hesitated for a long moment before calling someone else. Eames wondered what was upsetting the bloke. He hoped it wasn’t the stalker-ish other bloke. Abruptly, Eames felt pretty stalker-ish himself. But he didn’t want to look away. Shite. He was in trouble. First he had Arthur and now he’s got Ariadne’s friend. Not that he wanted to fuck Ariadne’s friend. (No, that was pretty much reserved for Arthur.) But he just felt protective over the small, breakable-looking man. (Though Eames was certain that Ariadne’s friend could hold his own. He had that air about him.)

“Eames!” Eames jumped as Yusuf poked his head out of the door of their apartment down the hall. “Where’s the vodka?”

“I told you no more drinking!” Eames hurried back to the apartment, hoping Yusuf hadn’t found any more alcohol. He was already _enough_ trouble as he was. It took Eames another hour to talk Yusuf into _trying_ to go to sleep. Luckily, Yusuf passed out pretty quickly once Eames had him tucked in bed. Eames rolled his eyes and went to go survey the rest of the flat. Fortunately, Yusuf hadn’t thrown up again and hadn’t spilled anything else. So, Eames just had to clean up the pillows that Yusuf had thrown everywhere in one of his tantrums.

Eames relaxed on his bed when he was done, _not_ relishing in what mood Yusuf would be in the next day, especially so hung over. His mind went back to Arthur, adorable, sexy Arthur, and he smiled as he replayed their conversation in his head. Arthur’s voice was nothing like Eames expected. There was a terseness about his voice that told Eames that Arthur was holding something back. But it sounded perpetual. Arthur was always holding _something_ back. Maybe it was his emotions.

It didn’t really matter what it was; Eames wanted to hear that voice in ecstasy. Moaning his names as Eames thrust into his tight heat, forcing the little, instinctive noises of pleasure from his throat. There wasn’t a picture of Arthur in Eames’ mind, but he had no shame in putting Ariadne’s friend in his place to help with the fantasy. How weird would it be if they were the same person? Eames couldn’t remember what Ariadne’s friend’s voice sounded like. But he was getting off track. Sex. Specifically, Eames fucking Arthur’s brains out.

And _there_ was Eames’ erection.


	8. Chapter 8

Eames didn’t know who A was, but if she kept squealing like someone letting the air out of a balloon slowly, he was going to find her and tape her mouth shut. Eames had just been having a lovely chat with Arthur regarding his psychology paper (Eames wanted Arthur to put the word “penis” in at random points all over the paper; Arthur was not as amused) when there was rapid-fire knocking on the door over the phone line. It sounded more like gunshots, but based on Arthur’s blasé reaction to it, Eames assumed it was the door instead. Once the door opened, Eames’ ears were assaulted with the high-pitched agony that was A squealing.

“You seem to have a squeaky toy in your room, darling.” Eames said dryly.

"Yes.” Arthur agreed, sounding more annoyed than Eames was, if it was possible. “And if she _ever_ acts her age, I just might die.”

“Don’t do that.” Eames sniggered. “I need you alive, love.” _So I can fuck your brains out._ Eames had been slowly losing his mind over the past two weeks. He and Arthur started talking on the phone every night (like boyfriends) and it just made Eames more sexually frustrated than he ever had been in his life. Puberty hadn’t been as bad for him as Arthur’s voice. Seriously. Eames was _this_ close to snapping and demanding to know Arthur’s address in order to find him and fuck him silly.

“Why is that?” Arthur asked, amused.

“Because I need someone to whinge at when my students are being bloody idiots.” Eames chuckled. “Also, your voice is sexy.”

“Do I _want_ to know what you’re doing right now?” Arthur asked, suspiciously. Well, Eames had _yet_ to fall to the temptation of wanking off when talking to Arthur on the phone (mostly because he didn’t trust himself to _not_ moan like a wanton tart), but that didn’t meant he hadn’t _thought_ about it.

“I am most definitely _not_ wanking off.” But he was seriously considering it now that Arthur had brought it up.

“Eames…” Arthur was grinning, Eames could tell. A abruptly stopped her noisy tirade in the background.

“Oh, your squeaky toy stopped.” Eames pointed out.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Arthur sounded like he was holding something back again. Like a grin or something. Okay, so Eames was projecting, but it would be _nice_ if it were true. “I should go deal with her before she implodes.”

“She said yes!” Yusuf burst into the apartment, screaming at the top of his lungs, like he had just won the fucking lotto.

“And you’re bloody surprised about it, aren’t you? Fucking twat.” Eames replied, grinning. “I’ll let you go, darling, since I _do_ have my own personal annoyance to deal with as well. But I’d like something from you to tide me over until we speak next.” Yusuf paused in his celebration, not wanting to interrupt Eames’ phone call. Which was more credit than Eames could give A, whoever she was.

“What’s that?” Arthur was abruptly suspicious. (For good reason.)

"What sound do you make when you cum–” Eames grunted as Yusuf punched him, turning bright red.

“I’m hanging up on you!” Arthur ended the call without hesitation, making Eames laugh. He hoped he got Arthur to blush.

“She said yes!” Yusuf repeated as soon as Eames shoved his phone into his pocket.

“Congratulations.” Eames gave Yusuf a bemused look. “Was there any doubt of this?”

“Yes.” Yusuf pouted.

“You’re a fucking twat.” Eames informed his friend. “You’re the only one surprised by this.”

“Shut up!” Yusuf shoved Eames. “We’re celebrating! I’m going to invent a new alcohol!” Eames dutifully followed Yusuf to the kitchen to oversee whatever the fuck he was planning on doing to do. Eames had learned _very_ early on that Yusuf was _not_ to be trusted in the kitchen by himself for _any_ length of time. Yusuf had already given Eames two drinks of questionable alcohol content and waited for Eames to fully drink _each_ of them before he deemed them “good enough” for him to try them himself. Eames was used to being the guinea pig.

Eames decided to text Arthur, because he was bored, mostly, and also because he was fairly certain the alcohol was going to hit him any minute and he wanted to establish, which he was still sober, that he was _going_ to be drunk and Arthur needed to _not_ take him seriously. 

 **Eames –**  
_I’ve decided that my friend is officially an idiot.  
__Also, I miss talking to you, darling.  
__We should talk more frequently.  
__Because daily is not enough._  

Of course, that what when Mal called him. Eames answered the phone and let her rant in French for a few minutes. She’d give him a chance to speak. And, she was speaking so quickly, it was going to take _all_ his mental faculties to understand what she was saying. She’d be more reasonable when she worked herself down. So, he ignored her for the time being and went about texting Arthur some more. 

 **Eames –**  
_Also, my friend is so excited that he’s inventing a new alcohol.  
__I am his test subject.  
__As usual.  
__So, I’m probably a little drunk.  
__Or at least I will be.  
__When the alcohol hits._  

Whoa. Eames settled himself on the counter to watch Yusuf, since his legs suddenly didn’t want to hold his weight anymore. _Fuck_ that shite was strong. Whatever it was. Eames was sure Yusuf was going to end up legitimately poisoning him at some point. They hadn’t quite gotten there, yet, though. Eventually, though. (What was that stupid law? Large numbers or some such?) Eames focused on sending Arthur more information. Arthur _needed_ to know this information. For a reason Eames couldn’t remember at the moment. 

 **Eames –**  
_Okay.  
__Alcohol hit.  
__Damn.  
__If that dude fails at chemistry, he’d be a brilliant mixologist._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_I’m surprised you’re this coherent.  
__If you’re drunk.  
__You’re spelling isn’t horrendous, yet._

 **Eames –**  
_I must impress my darling.  
__Obviously. ;)_

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_Well, since you’re drunk and in a good mood, I have some news._  

Oh, fuck. Arthur had a boyfriend. Oh, _fuck_ , Arthur had a _girlfriend_! Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck. Arthur was about to cast Eames aside and Mal was _still_ yelling at him, and _what was in that drink?!_  

 **Eames –**  
_Oh, no.  
__Don’t tell me.  
__I’m already getting interrogated in French right now.  
__I’m not sure what I did, but she’s mad._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_Who’s mad?  
__You know French?_

 **Eames –**  
_Boarding school, love.  
__I know French.  
__But being drunk and trying to text you are taking up most of my faculties at the moment._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_Don’t ignore your friend to text me!_

 **Eames –**  
_I do it all the time, darling.  
__Besides, she’ll calm down in a minute.  
__Now, have news?  
__This soudns bad.  
__Pls don’t b bad_

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_Oh, god. You’re getting worse.  
__It’s nothing important. It can wait until you’re sober._

 **Eames –**  
_Yeah, but now i’m curious.  
__Tell me, love._

 **Arthur <3 –**  
_One of my ex-TA’s is kind of stalking me._  

Eames’ entire brain stopped. _What?_

He had hung up on Mal and dialed Arthur’s number without thinking, ignoring Yusuf completely in favor of focusing on what was _really_ important. His darling was being stalked. This was _not_ okay.

“Hello?” Arthur sounded wary.

“You’re being stalked?” Eames prided himself on keeping the alcohol out of his voice.

“No.” Arthur tried to calm Eames down. It wasn’t going to work. Mal tried calling him back, but Eames sent her to voicemail. “He’s not stalking me. But he keeps trying to hit on me and ask me on dates. I’ve turned him down, but he’s not getting it.”

“This isn’t new.” Eames blinked. His darling didn’t tell him. “You didn’t tell me about your stalker, darling.” Eames _barely_ kept the snarl out of his voice. What _else_ wasn’t his darling telling him?

"I thought he would stop when I was out of his class.” Arthur defended. “And did you hang up on your friend to talk to me?!”

“Yes.” Eames was possibly a little smug about that, but Mal could kill him later when he wasn’t dealing with important shite. “Now, who is this person? Where do they live? What’s his social security number?”

“No, Eames, you can’t kill him.”

“I completely _can_.”

"Not while you’re drunk.” Arthur laughed. “I don’t want you to kill him.” Eames hesitated for a long moment. Arthur didn’t want him to kill this stalker. So, what could he do? What should he do? What did Arthur want him to do?

“What do you want me to do, then?” He asked.

"Go have fun with your chemistry friend.” Arthur sounded fond. It was a good sound. “And talk to your other friend before she kills you. I’ll talk to you later.”

“But, darling!”

“Quit whining.” Arthur ordered. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“But I’m gonna miss you.” Eames pouted.

“If you get off the phone with me and behave, I’ll send you a picture of me.” Arthur promised. Eames’ brain stopped.

“You will?” Eames sounded a bit confused.

“I promise I will send you a picture of myself if you behave.” Arthur repeated. Eames didn’t even hesitate.

“Bye, love!” Eames cheerfully hung up.

He was going to get to _see_ his darling! Eames drunkenly managed to get Yusuf _away_ from the alcohol, now that he was swaying, giggling happily to himself and they both flopped onto the couch.

“She said yes.” Yusuf told him.

“Arthur’s gonna send me his picture.” Eames replied.

“Everything’s perfect.” Yusuf decided.

“Mate, today is a fucking _lovely_ day.” Eames agreed.

“Didn’t Mal call you?” Yusuf asked.

“Yeah.” Eames agreed. “Don’t know why.”

Which was when his phone rang again.

“H’lo?”

“Eames!” Mal shrieked in his ear.

“Mal!” Eames grinned. “I’m sorry, but darling Arthur needed me, so I called him.”

“Arthur.” Eames couldn’t read Mal’s voice, not while he was so unfocused. “Eames, are you _drunk_?!”

“Yusuf asked Ariadne out.” Eames told her.

“She said yes!” Yusuf called over the phone.

“Is your blog name ‘theforger’?” Mal asked.

“Yeah, why?” Eames asked. His phone buzzed with a message. “Hold on.” He fumbled with his phone for a moment, trying to look at the picture Arthur had sent... him...

Eames brain executed a full-stop. Yusuf looked over his shoulder at the picture.

“Hey, that’s Arthur.” Yusuf said, drunkenly. “He was in my lab section last semester.”

“Mal?” Eames asked the phone blankly.

“The Arthur who is Dom’s best man, the one I’ve told you about, is Ariadne’s best friend.” Mal informed him. “He has a blog under the screen name ‘PointMan’.”

Fuck.

“I’ve got to go.” Eames said blankly.

“Don’t hurt him, or I’ll kill you slowly.” Mal warned him right before she hung up. Eames grabbed his laptop, opening the student directory as fast as he could in his drunken haze.

“What’s Arthur’s last name?” Eames asked Yusuf.

“What?” Yusuf was _not_ keeping up with what was going on.

“The Arthur who was in your class last semester.” Eames showed him the picture to remind him. Yusuf blinked, finally connecting the dots. And told him. Eames looked at the room number long enough to memorise it and then stumbled to the door. “I’ll see you later. Sober up! Ariadne might want to eat dinner with you!”

“Fuck.”

Eames started running towards where he knew his Arthur was. He fumbled with his phone, dialing Arthur’s number in the same habitual manner he had gotten used to in the past two weeks.

“Hello?” Arthur sounded _terrified_ , which almost made Eames stop. Instead, he just stumbled and slowed to a quick walk. The cold air was helping the haze his mind was in. As was the burning in his lungs.

“Darling, I am in love with you.” No time like the present to made entirely inappropriate love confessions.

“Eames?” Fuck. Eames had told Arthur he was drunk. Arthur wasn’t going to believe a _single_ word he said. Shite.

“And before you go blaming this on alcohol,” Eames tried to get the words out before Arthur could accuse him of anything, “I just want you to know that I’ve been in love with you since that time I couldn’t log on for three days. You left me exactly seven messages every day I was gone. You adorable idiot. I knew you missed me. And I missed you. I adore you, Arthur.”

“What?” Arthur sounded blank, like he wasn’t even really sure that this was real. Fuck, _Eames_ wasn’t even sure it was real and he was the one running across campus, still slightly drunk and completely enamoured on this adorable, silly undergrad.

“Oh, and you’re fucking _hot_ , love.” Eames added. “Like, seriously _so_ much better than that bloke on my Bloody Hot Men wall. Fuck, I love you.”

“You’re drunk.” Arthur informed him, quietly.

“Yes, I am.” Eames agreed. “And I’m also in love with you. The two don’t have to be mutually exclusive, love.”

“I…” Arthur stumbled over his words. “You can’t just decide to love me _after_ seeing what I look like. That puts me at a distinct disadvantage.”

“Couldn’t agree more, darling.”

And Eames hung up.

Which, in retrospect, was a little rude. But Eames had just gotten to the stairs and didn’t want to ruin the surprise that he was _about to meet Arthur_ by huffing and puffing into a phone the whole time. When he got to the hallway, he knew _exactly_ which door was Arthur’s because the fucking arsehole who had been badgering his darling at dinner was standing in a doorway, demanding to know why Arthur wouldn’t deign to go on a date with him.

“Because he’s got a boyfriend already, you bloody twat.” Eames spoke up, drawing the attention of two sets of eyes. Arthur’s eyes were wide with shock and surprise. The other bloke just looked surprised. Eames didn’t care. _He_ was Arthur’s boyfriend. They had been verbally sparring for months and Eames fucking _loved_ Arthur. This bloody prat could go fuck himself. Arthur was _his_.

“Eames?” Arthur blinked, jaw dropped.

“Hello, darling.” Eames shot him a smirk before turning an annoyed look to the bloke standing _way_ too close to Eames’ darling. “Leave or I’ll make you leave.”

“I-I didn’t know he had a boyfriend.” The bloke stuttered, backing up out of the room with his hands raised in surrender. _No fucking excuse to stalk him_. Eames almost snarled at him.

“You didn’t have to.” Eames glowered at him. “He’s been telling you for months he wasn’t interested. No means no, fuck head.” The bloke stuttered out more apologies, almost running to the stairwell to get away from Eames’ furious look. Eames followed him to the stairwell, to make sure he left.

“Eames?” Arthur breathed as Eames came back down the hallway. Eames smiled, wide and pleased that Arthur recognised his voice. He bowed, theatrically, and when he straightened, he held his hand out politely.

“Nice to meet you, darling.”


	9. Chapter 9

Eames was so bloody happy that it was _Arthur_ , but he wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to just snatch him up into a giant hug and snog him senseless. But that wouldn’t do, especially when Arthur had _no_ idea he was Eames. Much to Eames’ surprise, Arthur ignored his offer of a handshake and just threw himself at Eames. Their bodies collided and Eames hugged Arthur tightly to him, to prove to himself that this was _real!_

“Is this real?” Arthur murmured, almost under his breath.

“I hope so.” Eames whispered in response. It was all Eames could do to himself from snogging Arthur. Instead, he focused on memorising Arthur’s scent. Arthur pulled back, first, looking up at Eames’ grin with an awed expression.

“You’re… Eames.” Arthur said, softly. “Like, theforger.”

“That I am.” Eames nodded. “Also the one on the Bloody Hot Men page that you like wanking off to so much.” Eames winked, hoping to lighten the mood. He _knew_ Arthur would get too involved in his head if Eames left him alone long enough.

“Fuck.” Arthur blinked at him. “It really _is_ you.”

“You doubted me?” Eames pouted. The pout only lasted a second until Eames broke out into another giddy grin.

“Cut me some slack, you’re _here_! In person!” Arthur took a step back to gesture at Eames. “How did you know where I was? How did you know _who_ I was?”

“Do you _want_ to have this conversation in a hallway, love?” Eames asked, grinning. Arthur grabbed Eames’ wrist and dragged him into his room, shutting the door behind him with a snap. Eames didn’t even look at his surroundings, just turned to face Arthur.

“I confess, love, I’m still a little tipsy.” Eames said, calmly. “Though not having _anything_ other than those concoctions of hell that Yusuf made me in addition to my lovely run in the cool air has helped.”

“Yusuf.” Arthur was _not_ following. Eames was sure that if he was entirely sober, this conversation would be a lot less confusing for all parties involved.

“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?” Eames asked, plopping down on Arthur’s bed with a sigh.

“Okay.” Arthur sat down next to him. “You comment on my blog, I reply and then we’re having conversations.”

“We can skip a little bit, darling.” Eames grinned. “Yusuf and I went to dinner and sat next to you and Ariadne, which was on purpose, by the way.”

“It was?” Arthur blinked.

“I didn’t know who _you_ were, but I knew Yusuf was arse over teakettle for Ariadne.” Eames shrugged. “So, I made us sit there to torture him. Because he had been teasing me about you.”

“About me?” Arthur repeated, slowly.

“I was in love with you.” Eames chuckled. “Yusuf was mocking my pain. Then you sent me those messages and I almost died.”

“I thought you _were_ dying.” Arthur confessed. “All I knew was that you were Yusuf’s ridiculously hot friend and then you were choking and–”

“Ridiculously hot friend?” Eames grinned, distracting Arthur.

“Well, I’m paraphrasing.” Arthur blushed. “Ari and I saw you and Yusuf at a party last semester.”

“I’m glad you think I’m ridiculously hot, love.” Eames moved a little closer to Arthur before he could think twice of it, just _needing_ to kiss that charming blush.

“That picture of you on you Bloody Hot Men page…” Arthur trailed off.

“Like I said.” Eames chuckled. “I put it up there on a lark. My friend took the picture as part of her portfolio. When you told me you wanked off to it…” Eames groaned, remembering how _awesome_ that orgasm had been after he learned Arthur was physically attracted to him. “Darling, I had never been so aroused in my life.”

“I can’t believe this.” Arthur shook his head, blankly. “I mean, it makes sense, in retrospect, but I didn’t think… This is like a _movie_!”

“If this is a movie…” Eames waggled his eyebrows at Arthur, “Then it’s time for the Big Kiss.”

“Is it?” Arthur teased.

“Well, we could straight for the porn version of this love story, but…” Eames trailed off.

“I’m not just going to jump your bones because you’re here.” Arthur frowned, crossing his arms petulantly.

“Shame.” Eames could _see_ the bravado Arthur was putting on. Oh, Arthur _totally_ wanted to jump his bones. “Because I was _so_ looking forward to finally being able to ravish you and–” Arthur attacked Eames. Insofar as he grabbed Eames’ head and kissed him while trying to straddle his hips. Eames made a small noise that might have been a growl, and then his hands found Arthur’s arse, _fuck that arse_ , pulling their hips together. Arthur snogged like he had never been snogged before and this was his last chance before he died to learn what a _real snog_  was. Eames was just desperate to get more of Arthur, more of his scent, more of his taste… Arthur made a little noise in the back of his throat, which was so arousing that Eames bit his lower lip. Arthur’s breath hitched, indicating that he _liked_ the tiny amount of pain Eames was _sure_ he caused. And if _that_ knowledge didn’t make Eames more aroused, Eames was lying through his teeth. (Sweet fucking hell, he was harder than he’d ever been in his life.)

“Fuck.” Arthur breathed against Eames’ lips.

“That’s the idea, love.” Okay, so Eames was a little smug. Sue him. (Please don’t. Eames doesn’t have that kind of money.)

“Get on with it, then.” Arthur kissed Eames again and again, keeping Eames from focusing enough to remove their clothes. The alcohol buzzed in the back of his mind, interrupting his ability to focus and Arthur tasted _so bloody good_.

“Should have known you’d be in a fucking suit.” Eames muttered against Arthur’s lips, drawing a groan from Arthur. He was rutting shamelessly up against Arthur, feeling his blood boil at the _goddamn suit_. Arthur’s suit was a fucking _crime_ against humanity. (Or maybe just Eames’ sanity.) And Eames needed to get it _off_ Arthur or he was going to lose his fucking mind. Arthur ran his fingers through Eames’ hair, making pleasure shudder down Eames’ spine. Eames twisted them around, shoving Arthur back onto the bed and trying to hold himself in check long enough to avoid hurting either of them. Arthur rocked his hips up, seemingly oblivious to Eames’ plight. “Darling…” Eames groaned, trying to catch his breath, his sanity, his _something_ …

“Eames.” Arthur tugged on Eames’ hair so their eyes could meet. “Fuck me.” Eames shuddered, one of those utterly satisfying full-body shudders that starts in the toes and creeps up through the rest of the body. Eames growled. He couldn’t count how many times he wished he could hear Arthur say _those exact words_.

“You are going to be the death of me, love.” Eames breathed.

“ _Please_.” And fuck if Eames didn’t just lose his shite, scrambling at their clothes with all the finesse of a drunk blind toddler. Eames managed to get Arthur out of his suit relatively quickly, but it took Arthur’s assistance in getting Eames’ t-shirt and jeans off. Because, for some reason, that was _infinitely_ more difficult. Especially when hard as a rock and desperate for more. (Which Eames was.) When Eames was finally naked and back on top of Arthur, he couldn’t focus on anything. He couldn’t decide which part of Arthur he wanted to look (touch, taste) at first. Arthur seemed completely preoccupied with Eames’ tattoos, which normally would make Eames smug as all fuck, but he couldn’t focus enough for that. (Arthur’s skin was _everywhere_.)

“Fuck.” Eames didn’t recognize his own voice. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“Eames.” Arthur growled, dragging Eames down into a violent, desperate kiss. His lips crushed against Eames’ in a bruising amount of force, which just went straight to Eames’ dick. (He was a contrary bastard.) Eames snarled, losing his mind as Arthur jerked into him. Their skin was starting to stick together from the sheer amount of sweat they were emitting. Eames didn’t care. The heat was pressing him forward, catapulting him into action. Arthur’s hands moved across Eames’ shoulders, mapping out the tattoos absently. Eames rocked forward, dragging their erections together and pulling a delicious, high-pitched whine from Arthur’s throat. _Fuck_ , that noise. Eames could die happy just listening to Arthur. (Seriously.) Eames fumbled and found their erections with his hand, stroking them in a slow, hard rhythm that was more teasing than actual _friction_. Arthur made a strangled whimper and Eames couldn’t help the smug grin that came over him.

“Don’t fret, darling.” He promised, softly. “We’ll get there.”

“If you don’t get things moving, _now_ ,” Arthur snarled, glowering in the _most_ adorable way, “I swear to God, I’m going to fuck myself on you.” Eames shut his eyes and moaned, a low, throaty sound, picturing that _exact_ situation and finding _nothing_ wrong with that scenario. Eames nuzzled into Arthur’s neck and nibbled on the spot behind Arthur’s ear. Arthur gasped, arching off the bed.

“Arthur…” Eames sounded _destroyed_. “Making threats that I’ll enjoy is _not_ going to get me to do what you want.” Eames was _trying_ to focus, to keep from hurting Arthur, but Arthur was making it _impossible_. “Darling, we need–” Eames choked as Arthur dragged his fingernails down his back. “ _Fuck_. Love, we need condoms, lube…” Eames pulled back from Arthur, letting cool air invade the space between their bodies. Shite. Arthur looked completely wrecked, like he was about to lose control completely. (Because he hadn’t lost control, yet, apparently.) Arthur took a deep, steadying breath and tried to focus on Eames’ face. It took Arthur a second to find the words and every millisecond that passed, Eames was _sure_ he was just going to ravage Arthur.

“Bedside table.” Arthur’s voice was gruff and dark and so _utterly_ destroyed in the _best_ way. Eames reached for said table, fumbling with the drawer to find what they needed. Arthur seemed impatient (if his fingers tracing Eames’ tattoos were anything to go by) and he looked pleased as punch when Eames returned, dropping the condom on Arthur’s chest.

“So glad you fancy my ink, darling.” Eames stole a quick, sloppy kiss before slicking his fingers up. Arthur spread his legs without hesitation, making Eames groan long and slow. “Love, you _have_ to stop being so fucking sexy.”

“Do I?” Arthur teased, scratching Eames’ bicep as he spoke. Eames groaned again, his hips stuttering as he dropped his forehead onto Arthur’s shoulder. _Fuck_ , he never thought he’d turn into a mumbling idiotic twat during sex before, but Arthur was breaking _all_ sorts of rules. Arthur whined as Eames breached his arse with one finger, trying to force himself to go slow. (Slow the fuck down, moron.) Eames kissed Arthur, hoping to distract him from the fact that Eames had added a second finger _way_ too soon. Arthur didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, dropping his head back on the bed to gasp in air. Eames moved his lips (tongue, teeth) to Arthur’s throat, enjoying the little noises Arthur involuntarily made. Arthur’s hips rocked forward with every move Eames made with his fingers and _fucking Christ_ Eames was going to cum right there, just _watching_ Arthur. It was not the slightest bit fair that Arthur was _so bloody gorgeous_ , all flushed with arousal and begging for more from Eames’ fingers (lips, teeth, tongue) and _fucking hell_ , Eames stopped breathing when Arthur _fucking keened_. Eames was _going_ to finish too soon. It was just inevitable. With Arthur moaning and writhing and taking three of Eames’ fingers without a problem and _god_ , that little whimper was going to be the fucking _end_ of Eames’ sanity.

“Oh, fucking fuck, Eames, fuck you, don’t fucking stop that, god, I need you, fuck, _Eames_ …” Words were just spilling out of Arthur’s mouth. (Well, _that’s_ where his prostate is.) He was _close_ if his words were any indication. Eames stopped the movement in his fingers and took a deep breath, calming himself down, too.

“Shhh.” Eames pressed a gentle kiss to Arthur’s lips, silencing the rambling Arthur was blurting out. “Relax, love. I’ve got you.” Arthur’s body relaxed at Eames’ words. “That’s it, darling.” Some of the intense desperation in Arthur seemed to ease as he gave in to Eames’ words. Eames twisted his fingers, searching for… _that_.

“ _Please_ , Eames.” Arthur’s voice was oddly quiet, but his words had a fire that told Eames if he didn’t _hurry the fuck up_ , he was going to get left behind. Eames couldn’t help his jerk at Arthur’s begging because hadn’t that been his _exact_ fantasy when he first heard Arthur’s voice? Eames’ fingers trembled as he struggled to get the condom on, trying desperately to ignore how Arthur lifted his hips, still impatient despite how _fast_ everything was going. Eames pressed a kiss to Arthur’s lips, trying to calm himself down so he didn’t _hurt_ Arthur with just taking him hard and fast (like Eames so _desperately_ wanted to). He pressed forward into the tight heat in one long, slow movement, breathing heavily the whole time to keep from just _thrusting_. He hesitated when he was full seated in Arthur, trying to maintain _any_ form of self-control (which he was notoriously bad at). When he opened his eyes, Arthur’s eyes were focused on him, blown wide with arousal.

“Are you all right, love?” Eames couldn’t breathe.

“I could be better.” Arthur, it seemed, couldn’t breathe either. Eames tilted his head, completely confused. Arthur rolled his hips, making Eames swear at the delicious friction. “I could be getting fucked.” And _now_ , Arthur’s words made sense.

“Funny, thought I was doing that.” Eames chuckled, rocking his hips slowly (testing the waters as it were).

“Eames, move your ass.” Arthur was _done_ with Eames’ teasing, apparently.

“As my darling commands.” Eames grinned, pulling back out almost all the way. When he shoved forward, _hard_ , Arthur swore, arching his back in pleasure. Arthur was so much more responsive that Eames had imagined and it was _perfect_. Eames couldn’t stop himself from doing what he had been _dreaming_ of for so long. He thrust again and again and again, _hard_. He pulled out all the delicious, involuntary noises from Arthur’s throat, spurring him on and on. Arthur’s fingernails dug into Eames’ shoulders, driving Eames wild. He stared at Arthur, watching as his orgasm approached, tantalizingly close. Eames found the focus to wrap a hand around Arthur’s dick to help him along and Arthur’s entire body tensed, hips jerking as he hit his orgasm _hard_. And then Eames was gone, thrusting into Arthur’s tight arse, gasping and trembling as he approached his own orgasm.

Eames let out small, choked-off sound, and shuddered, his whole body tensing and relaxing in one swift motion. Eames felt his dick twitch inside Arthur, making Arthur twitch in response and smiled to himself. He breathed deeply, letting his body’s natural high take over. They stayed in that position for a few long seconds, both trying to calm their breathing. Eames watched Arthur take stock of the mess he had made. Arthur somehow managed to keep it from getting all over the sheets, keeping his mess-making to just Eames and himself. Arthur met Eames’ gaze and a slow, smug smile lifted Eames’ lips. (Yes, he was smug. Yes, he was going to remain smug. Yes, Arthur would have to deal with it.) Arthur huffed out a chuckle and then he and Eames were just laughing. Eames pulled out of him as they laughed, sitting back on his heels and he fumbled with the condom to tie it off. Arthur sat up, wincing.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Eames asked. Arthur smiled and kissed Eames’ jaw impulsively. Which just made Eames giddy.

“No.” Arthur promised. “Just not used to it.” Eames’ brain ground to a stop.

“You’re a virgin?” Eames blinked. There was no way, _absolutely no way_ , that Arthur, his Arthur, his darling Arthur who was _too_ fucking sexy for his own good, was a virgin. It didn’t compute in Eames’ brain. Arthur was gorgeous and sexy and brilliant and _why_ was he still a virgin?

“You’re surprised?” Arthur shot back, getting a little defensive.

“Abso- _fucking_ -lutely, love.” Eames touched Arthur’s jaw, taking note of the tension from Arthur clenching his teeth. He was treading into dangerous territory apparently. Maybe it had to do with the bullying Arthur had told him about. “You’re so bloody attractive and intelligent. Damn.” Eames started muttering to himself, distracted. “I should have been slower. Fuck, I just mucked everything right up, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t.” Arthur kissed Eames to shut him up. “I wanted this. I jumped _you_ , remember?”

“You’re welcome to whenever you want, darling.” Eames replied. Arthur kissed him again.

“We should clean up.” Arthur suggested.

“We should.” Eames agreed, smirking. Arthur gave Eames a _look_ , one that Eames could already read, despite having not spent any time in Arthur’s physical presence before. Arthur _hated_ the smug grin Eames had on. But, he was admitting that he was going to have to deal with it. Which gave Eames the stupid little butterflies people always talked about. It meant Arthur wanted him. More than just sex. More than just a one-night stand. Somehow, he ended up down the hall in the shower with Arthur (which just made him a giddy mess). It started innocently enough, both of them rinsing the sweat and semen from their bodies and then Eames’ hands were massaging Arthur’s back and Arthur was sighing his appreciation and then Eames had Arthur’s back against the cold tile, snogging him desperately. It was too soon for _either_ of them to get going again, but Eames didn’t care. He could kiss Arthur all day, every day, and never tire of it.

“Not here.” Arthur pushed Eames back, blushing furiously as he glowered at him.

“You’re so easy to ruffle, love.” Eames grinned, _adoring_ the blush. “I just wanted a snog in the shower. Never done that before.”

“You’re _impossible_.” Arthur scowled, shutting off the water and grabbing a towel.

“You love me.” Eames took the other towel Arthur provided him with and carelessly wrapped it around his hips. Eames watched, amused, as Arthur got distracted by what appeared to be one water droplet as it slid down Eames’ torso. Arthur blinked heavily and looked back up at Eames, who was grinning like an idiot (because what _else_ was he supposed to do when confronted with evidence that his darling thought he was sexy as fuck). Arthur huffed, pouting in the most _adorable_ fashion, and led Eames back down the hall to his room. Arthur collapsed on his bed, followed quickly by Eames, who did _not_ care that he hadn’t properly dried off and that the bed was a twin, making it barely big enough for one adult, much less two. It wasn’t until they were settled underneath the blanket, which took a minute, with Eames curled up around Arthur, nuzzling into Arthur’s hair with a contented sigh, that Arthur tensed up. Eames was surprised it took _that_ long for Arthur to start over-analyzing the situation. Frankly, he had been expecting it _before_ they had sex, but he was glad Arthur had waited. Now that he was sated, it would be easier to ease his Arthur’s fears.

“You’re thinking too hard.” Eames informed him, softly. “I can _hear_ the bloody wheels turning.”

“But…” Arthur trailed off softly.

“I _adore_ you, love.” Eames informed him, leaning up to look Arthur in the eye. Arthur was biting his lip, which Eames had never considered to be a potential worry habit for Arthur, but it was almost _painful_ how fucking arousing it was. God, Arthur was going to have to _stop_ if he _ever_ wanted to do something outside of sex with Eames. “Seriously. Totally sober now. I am completely and utterly in love with you and your stupid sarcastic sense of humor. If you want to kick me out, can you at least let me bask for a few minutes?”

“What?” Arthur blinked slowly. “Kick you out? Why would I do that? I’ve been pining after you since you went AWOL on your trip back to London.”

“My darling has been _pining_?” Eames was _beyond_ delighted, and was pleased when he saw Arthur blush. Eames stole a kiss. “Fret not, my love, for I am here now.”

“You’re stupid.” Arthur huffed, turning to stare at the wall and pouting.

“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind: Not hath Love’s mind of any judgement taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste: And therefore is Love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.” Eames nuzzled Arthur’s neck. He couldn’t see, but he hoped Arthur was blushing.

“Did you just Shakespeare me?” Arthur asked, after a moment of silence.

“Did it work?” Eames grinned.

“No.” Arthur snapped.

“Well, now I know the way to your heart, darling.” He kissed his Arthur’s temple. “Just Shakespeare the shite out of you.”

“I hate you.”

“Do not.” Eames sang softly.

“Do, too.”

“Arthur!” Ariadne burst in the room. “Did you send him a pic…” She froze, staring wide-eyed at the sight of Arthur curled up in bed, obviously naked, with Eames.

Well, shite.


	10. Chapter 10

After Ariadne screamed, and scream she did, she turned bright red and faced the opposite wall, yelling at them to _put some clothes on for fuck’s sake!_ Which they did. Arthur was bright red as they got dressed, Eames was delighted by Arthur’s blush and grinning too broadly to _really_ care about getting caught. (He had been caught in worse situations before.) Ariadne _insisted_ on hearing the full story, refusing to sit or even stand still. She was radiating nervous energy and panicking quietly, much to Eames’ amusement.

“Ari, this is Eames.” Arthur introduced quietly. “As in _my_ Eames. He’s also Yusuf’s friend.”

“Small world, innit?” Eames smiled at her, absolutely _not_ shamed in the slightest.

“Explain.” Ariadne focused on Arthur. “Everything.”

“Do you want the full story _now_?” Arthur asked. “I’m going to have to tell Mal at dinner anyway and I’d rather not go through it twice.”

“All right, fine.” Ariadne huffed, impatiently.

“Wait, Mal?” Eames blinked. (No _fucking_ way.) “The world isn’t _that_ bloody small, is it?”

“What?” Arthur looked at him. His eyes unfocused just enough for Eames to know Arthur was overthinking again. Eames kissed him to stop Arthur’s mind.

“You’re thinking too loud again.” Eames informed Arthur, once he pulled back from the kiss. Ariadne squealed, making both men flinch. “One of my best mates growing up is a French lady by the name of Mallorie Miles.” Both Ariadne and Arthur stared at Eames.

“There’s no fucking way…” Arthur muttered.

“ _That’s_ why Mal hung up on you!” Ariadne gasped. “Arthur let your name slip when he was talking to her earlier.”

“ _That’s_ why she called me.” Eames narrowed his eyes. “That bitch. She knew you this whole time and never introduced us.”

“Eames!” Arthur slapped himself in the forehead. “God, I’m such a fucking idiot!” Arthur hung his head, blushing horribly. Both Ariadne and Eames stared at him. Arthur sighed. “Mal mentioned you back when we first started talking on the Internet. She was talking about her wedding and how you’re her man of honor. She offered to set us up.” Ariadne started giggling uncontrollably while Eames just gaped at Arthur.

“You mean we could have been having blissful sex this _whole time_?!” Eames pouted. “You prat.”

“I didn’t know it was you!” Arthur defended himself. “We had just started talking! And I’ve been set up by Mal before.”

“Me, too.” Eames hesitated in his mock-ire. “And she’s pretty bad at it, come to think of it.” Eames then gave Arthur a look. “How did you not recognize the name, love?”

“I did!” Arthur flushed. “I mean, I _recognized_ your name, I just couldn’t remember where I heard it before. And ‘Eames’ isn’t exactly an uncommon name.”

“I still love you, darling.” Eames grinned, pulling Arthur into a kiss.

“You two are disgusting.” Ariadne informed them dutifully.

“I hate you.” Arthur replied.

“He says that a lot.” Eames noted. “It’s a shame we can translate his bull shite.” Ariadne giggled at the glower Arthur sent Eames.

“Did you ever call Mal back?” Arthur asked.

“Nope.” Eames grinned unabashedly. “Let’s just surprise her at dinner, yeah?”

“You’re terrible!” Ariadne laughed. “She’ll _kill_ you!”

“She can’t.” Eames preened. “I’m her man of honor! And I’m also her darling Arthur’s boyfriend. I am protected by my position.” Ariadne gave Arthur a dirty look.

“Boyfriend?” She asked, still looking at Arthur, and making him blush furiously. (What was _that_ about?)

“I’m fucking in love with him.” Eames shrugged. “ _And_ he’s just so adorable. I just have to keep him.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Arthur snapped.

“Of course, darling.” Eames gave him a bemused look. “Don’t you want to be my boyfriend?” _Yes, please_.

“That’s not the point!” Arthur stuttered. Ariadne and Eames burst out laughing. Arthur glowered at them.

“I hate you both.”

“Come on, I’m meeting Yusuf for dinner.” Ariadne grinned. “We’ll go together and meet Mal.” Eames stood up and offered Ariadne his hand.

“We haven’t officially met.” He said by way of explanation. “I’m Eames, the roommate to your boyfriend Yusuf, the best mate to your friend Mal, and now boyfriend to your best mate Arthur.”

“Nice to meet you, Eames.” Ariadne grinned. “I’m Ariadne. You already know all about me, don’t you?”

“Arthur only whinges about you.” Eames informed her dutifully.

“Fuck.” Arthur complained. “I should have known you two would get along.”

“It’s a good thing, darling.” Eames helped Arthur to his feet. “Your boyfriend _should_ get on with your friends.”

“You’re abusing the title.” Arthur told him, blandly.

“I’m allowed to.” Eames said, smugly. “I’ve been calling you my boyfriend in my head for _weeks_ now.”

“You’re disgusting.” Ariadne sang from the door. “Let’s go! I can’t _wait_ to tell Mal!”

And that’s how Eames ended up with Arthur under his arm while they walked to the dining hall, smiling to himself as he bantered with Ariadne. (He liked her. She was fun and not too serious, which would help Yusuf get his head out of his arse.) Of course, Yusuf was already there, alerted to the situation by a text from Ariadne, grinning like a moron.

“Thank God you said yes.” Yusuf said, shaking Arthur’s hand. “This idiot has been _impossible_.” Eames almost found the energy to be offended. (Almost.)

“That’s rich, coming from you.” Eames replied. “I didn’t know who my darling was. You knew _and_ you knew she would say yes. I think _you’re_ the bigger prat.”

“I was a little nervous.” Yusuf blushed, trying to defend himself.

“I _knew_ it!” Mal’s voice was as close to a scream as she ever got. She ran up to Arthur, hugging him tightly before treating Eames to the same. She started talking in French, as she was want to do when excited, making Arthur smile and expose those goddamn  _adorable_ dimples.

“Mal!” Arthur interrupted her French tirade with gentle French of his own. “ _Calm down. We’re going to explain everything over dinner._ ” Eames gaped at Arthur, brain on full-stop. He was pretty sure things were still happening around him, but he couldn’t focus enough to figure out what it was.

“What?” Arthur asked, defensively.

“You speak French.” Eames said, as blankly as his face was. Oh, no. He had _never_ had a kink before, but once again, Arthur was just breaking the rules. (Eames was so utterly fucked.)

“Yes.” Arthur nodded slowly.

“Darling, if we weren’t in public, I would ravish you right here.” Eames informed him, slowly coming back to himself. Arthur flushed.

“I told you I could speak French.” Arthur reminded him.

“Yes, but now I’ve _heard_ it.” Eames stole a kiss. “And I am so wonderfully fucked, love.”

“You were earlier.” Arthur muttered. Eames laughed.

“Are you two coming or what?” Yusuf grumbled, still holding the door open.

It took maybe five minutes for everyone to get their food and settle down at a table together. Mal wasted no time in interrogating them, choosing them to be her entertainment while she ate. Arthur and Eames traded off going through a basic run down of what had happened since they first started talking online. Eames delighted in learning all Arthur’s side of their relationship, from his pointed staring at Nash’s party to dealing with Robert (the bloke who had been stalking his darling had a name and Eames wasn’t likely to forget it).

“Then, he sent me a picture of himself and I was so excited.” Eames grinned. “Because the darling who was Ariadne’s friend was _my_ darling and one of Yusuf’s old students. So, I had to run and confess my love.”

Obediently, Mal and Ariadne _awww_ ed.

“How did you know where I live anyway?” Arthur asked.

“Yusuf knew your surname and I just looked it up on the student directory.” Eames shrugged.

“ _I_ am the reason you got together!” Yusuf claimed. “Praise me!”

“They were already together.” Mal waved Yusuf away. “Just not physically. If Eames had been paying attention to me when I called earlier,” She pinned him with a glare, “He would have learned that his Arthur was _my_ Arthur and I would have given him Arthur’s surname anyway.”

“They would have figured it out eventually.” Ariadne pointed out. “Arthur’s oblivious, not an _idiot_.”

“Hey!” Arthur complained.

“Well, mostly.” Mal agreed.

“Oi!” Eames pouted at Mal. “That’s my boyfriend you’re making fun of.”

“You’re adorable.” Mal smiled at him. She then turned dark looks on both Yusuf and Eames. “You’re both robbing the cradle.”

“We’re not!” Yusuf defended.

“They’re in university!” Eames added.

“They’re undergrads!” Mal snapped. “Now, if _either_ of you do _anything_ to hurt _mes poulettes_ , I _will_ make you regret being male.” Both Eames and Yusuf paled, swallowing tightly.

“What if we break their hearts?” Arthur asked, amused.

“Don’t be silly, _mon chou_.” Mal patted Arthur’s head. “If you two try to hurt Yusuf or Eames, we’ll have a nice chat and get you back together.” Ariadne and Arthur shared a look.

“You’re scary, you know that, Mal?” Ariadne asked.

“I am.” Mal smiled demurely, which was probably the most terrifying reaction she could have. “Now, you’re all coming to the wedding, no?”

And then the conversation turned towards Mal’s upcoming nuptials to Dom. Which was a more comfortable topic for everyone involved. After all, keeping Mal happy was better than dealing with her under _any_ other capacity. Mal left first, claiming she had so much to do now that all her friends were paired up. Which didn’t really make any sort of sense to anyone, but no one said anything. Then, Yusuf invited Ariadne to go on a walk with him and they also left, Ariadne giggling and Yusuf blushing.

“Well, since we’ve been abandoned, darling,” Eames stood up and offered Arthur his hand, “Shall we?”

“Where are we going?” Arthur asked, taking the proffered hand with a small smile (fuck those dimples).

“Anywhere you like.” Eames grinned at Arthur as they started walking aimlessly. “I never would have guessed that you have _dimples_ , love.”

“What’s wrong with my dimples?” Arthur asked.

“They’re _disgustingly_ adorable.” Eames nodded knowledgably. “As are you, love.”

“So, we’re dating now.” Arthur said, slowly.

“If you like.” Eames allowed. “ _I_ like, but we both need to be on the same level on this.”

“I like.” Arthur muttered. “Probably too much.”

“Have you wanked off to me?” Eames asked, grinning. “I have wanked off to you, specifically your voice, more often than I should probably admit to.”

“I am not telling you anything.” Arthur said, calmly. Eames looked at him sideways for a moment before he smirked. Arthur was easy to read in person. In text form, Eames would have _no_ idea that Arthur was fighting to hide his blush.

“You _have_! You rascal. I know I’m delightful, but you should really be careful of overinflating my ego, darling.”

“You’re obnoxious.” Arthur sighed.

“I am.” Eames agreed. Arthur smiled, looking at the ground as they walked. “Dimples!”

“Prove my point, why don’t you?” Arthur actually laughed. They only walked in silence for one minute before Eames was itching with inactivity.

“Well, tell me about yourself, darling.” Eames prompted.

“You already know about me.” Arthur pointed out. “I’m pretty sure the only thing you didn’t know was my location and what I looked like. Which, obviously you know now.”

“True enough.” Eames agreed. “But there are plenty of things I still don’t know about you.”

“Like what?” Arthur asked.

“Like what sort of sexy noises you make when I’m sucking your cock. Or giving you a rim job. Darling, the noises you could make…” Eames tried to sigh romantically, but Arthur had punched him, making him laugh instead. Arthur flushed and scowled, obviously thinking too much about the scenarios Eames had mentioned.

“You’re an ass.”

“That I am.” Eames dragged Arthur over to the side of the library and shoved his back against the wall, stealing a kiss. Eames absolutely loved the fact that Arthur melted against him. Eames kept his body a few scant inches from Arthur’s, only maintaining contact with their lips. (Mostly to keep himself from ravishing his darling in public. He didn’t think Arthur would appreciate that.)

“You’re stupid and I hate you.” Arthur breathed, when Eames pulled back.

“Ah, that mouth.” Eames pecked his lips quickly. “Darling, I adore you.”

“I love you, too.” Arthur blushed. Eames couldn’t help the stupid smile that crossed his features. (Arthur _loved_ him back!) The space Eames had been keeping just a moment ago was now nonexistent as he pressed Arthur against the wall, snogging him desperately.

“Seriously?!” Ariadne’s voice split them up again, but this time Arthur looked relatively composed while Eames felt like a _mess_. He looked over to see Yusuf and Ariadne holding hands, looking somehow both annoyed and amused at once.

“What?” Arthur didn’t even flinch.

“You’ve only known each other for a couple hours!” Yusuf pointed out.

“And we’ve already had sex.” Arthur shrugged. “Don’t hate just because you’re not getting any, yet.” Eames grinned as Arthur sassed his (their) friends.

“I hate you.” Ariadne blushed while Yusuf shifted uncomfortably.

“Besides, according to Ari, Eames and I have been dating for _months_.” Arthur reminded her.

“Be nice, love.” Eames murmured into Arthur’s messy hair. Ariadne’s surprise appearance followed immediately by going out had kept Arthur from slicking his hair back. The t-shirt and jeans he was wearing was _also_ pretty damn arousing.

“They’re cock-blocking me.” Arthur grumbled under his breath. Eames laughed.

“I’m turning you into a monster.” He ruffled Arthur’s hair with a grin. “A bloody nymphomaniac.”

“I don’t hear you complaining.” Arthur found the decency to blush.

“Nope.” Eames kissed the soft spot behind Arthur’s ear and took his hand. “Let me go ravish you against a wall, darling.”

“You’re disgusting!” Ariadne called after them. She was promptly told off by a group of people accusing her of homophobia. Arthur laughed as they walked away, making Eames grin at the sound. (He would _never_ get used to Arthur’s delightful laugh.)

“Are you seriously going to…” Arthur stuttered to a stop at Eames’ expectant grin. “Against a wall?”

“Darling, I have been lifting weights for a long time just for the ability to fuck against a wall should I ever want to.” Eames replied, smugly. Arthur just blinked at him for a long moment.

“You’ve been working out to have sex against a wall?” Arthur asked slowly. Eames burst out laughing.

“I’ve been working out so I can have sex _wherever_ I want.” Eames spotted the tiny blush on Arthur’s cheeks. “But I’m guessing the wall thing is what’s sticking in your mind.”

“No.” Arthur fought his blush and failed miserably. (It was adorable.)

“Do you have a fantasy to share with the class, love?” Eames grinned.

“No!”

And _that_ was how Arthur ended up against the wall of Eames’ bedroom, making all sorts of delightfully delicious noises that Eames adored and scrambling for purchase while Eames thrust into him again and again and again. Eames murmured husky pet names and praises in Arthur’s ear the whole time, feeling every shudder Arthur had when the word “darling” or “love” passed his lips. (His darling had a bit of a fetish, it seemed.) Eames lowered Arthur’s legs to the floor, letting him stand under his own, albeit shaky, power. Eames used a washcloth to help clean up as much as possible, but they just ended up curled together in Eames’ bed completely nude. Eames was drifting off to sleep, absolutely _adoring_ Arthur’s (naked!) body pressed against his, when Arthur shifted around.

“Shit.” Arthur groaned.

“What?” Eames mumbled, sleepily.

“I’ve got class in the morning.” Arthur sighed.

“Mmkay.” Class. Whatever. He could go to class tomorrow. It was sleep time _now_.

“I have to go back to my room.” Arthur said. “I’ve got homework to do. And I’ve got clothes there.” Shite.

“All right.” Eames blinked himself back to awareness and yawned, watching Arthur get out of the bed. (Eames was enjoying Arthur’s nakedness _far_ too much.) When Arthur started retrieving his clothes from the floor, he paused, taking in the fact that his clothes had become severely messed up from their earlier, exuberant activities.

That led to Arthur having to ask Eames to borrow some clothes.

Which led to Arthur putting on said clothes.

Which led to Eames promptly taking them off again and fucking him silly again.

(No self-control, remember?)

It was a good night.

END


End file.
